"Dear Dick,--_I regret to tell you that circumstances preclude me from ever meeting you again. I am going far away, where you cannot find me. It was foolish for us to have loved, therefore forget me. That you may meet some one far worthier than myself, and that `Circe' may bring you fame and fortune, is the most sincere hope of your models_. "Ethel." "I warned you against your infatuation, old fellow," I said seriously. "But I couldn't help it. I--I loved her," he answered in a hoarse, trembling voice. "Forget her," I argued. "She is worthless and vain; why make yourself miserable?" "Ah, you are right!" he said, as if suddenly impressed by the force of my arguments, while his face assumed a hard, determined expression. "She is Circe indeed, and she had her foot upon my neck. But it is all over," he added bitterly. "I shall think no more of her." Then he wished me an abrupt farewell, and left, apparently in order to conceal his emotion. That evening I called at Dick's house, but was informed by his housekeeper that he had packed his bag and departed, stating that he would not return for at least a month, perhaps longer. When I entered the studio, gloomy in the twilight, I was astonished to find that the "Circe" had been removed from the easel, and that it was standing in a corner with its face to the wall. Something prompted me to turn it, and when I did so, I discovered to my dismay that in his frenzy of mad despair he had taken a brushful of black paint and drawn it across the face, making a great, ugly, disfiguring daub over the forehead and eyebrows, utterly ruining the features, and producing a curiously forbidding effect. The colour was not dry, therefore I was enabled to remove the greater portion of it with a silk handkerchief, but I saw with regret that the tints of the forehead had been irretrievably ruined, rendering the picture valueless. The days went by. The limit for sending in to the Academy was approaching; but Dick did not write, and I could only wonder vaguely where he was wandering. It was a great pity, I thought, that such a fine work should not be exhibited. Yet the wilful obliteration had utterly spoiled it. While sitting in his studio musing one day, it suddenly occurred to me that if the flaw upon the forehead could be hidden, it might, after all, be sent for the inspection of the hanging committee. Taking it up, I examined it minutely in the light. The idea of placing a half-mask upon the face suggested itself, and without delay I proceeded to carry it into effect. The little skill with the brush that I possess enabled me to paint in the half-lights upon the black silk, and the laughing eyes being fortunately intact, I allowed them to peer through the apertures.