All of humanity and of maturity--of adolescence and of divinity was in that face; in the exquisitely sensitive wisdom of the woman's eyes, in the full sweet innocence of the childish mouth--in the smooth little hands so unsoiled, so pure--in the nun-like pallor and slender beauty of the throat. [Illustration: "'Where do you keep those pretty models, Louis?' he demanded."] Whatever had been his inspiration--whether spiritual conviction, or the physical beauty of Valerie, neither he nor she considered very deeply. But that he was embodying and creating something of the existence of which neither he nor she had been aware a month ago, was awaking something within them that had never before stirred or given sign of life. Since the last section of the mural decoration for the new court house had been shipped to its destination, he had busied himself on two canvases, a portrait of his sister in furs, and the portrait of Valerie. Lily Collis came in the mornings twice a week to sit for her; and once or twice Stephanie Swift came with her; also Sandy Cameron, ruddy, bald, jovial, scoffing, and insatiably curious. "Where do you keep all those pretty models, Louis?" he demanded, prying aside the tapestry with the crook of his walking stick, and peeping behind furniture and hangings and big piles of canvases. "Be a sport and introduce us; Stephanie wants to see a few as well as I do." Neville shrugged and went on painting, which exasperated Cameron. "It's a fraud," he observed, in a loud, confidential aside to Stephanie; "this studio ought to be full of young men in velvet coats and bunchy ties, singing, 'Oh la--la!' and dextrously balancing on their baggy knees a series of assorted soubrettes. It's a bluff, a hoax, a con game! Are you going to stand for it? I don't see any absinthe either--or even any Vin ordinaire! Only a tea-pot--a _tea-pot!_" he repeated in unutterable scorn. "Why, there's more of Bohemia in a Broad Street Trust Company than there is in this Pullman car studio!" Mrs. Collis was laughing so that her brother had difficulty in going on with her portrait. "Get out of here, Sandy," he said--"or take Stephanie into the rest of the apartment, somewhere, and tell her your woes." Stephanie, who had been exploring, turning over piles of chassis and investigating canvases and charcoal studies stacked up here and there against the wainscot, pulled aside an easel which impeded her progress, and in so doing accidentally turned the canvas affixed to it toward the light. "Hello!" exclaimed Cameron briskly, "who is this?" Lily turned her small, aristocratic head, and Stephanie looked around. "What a perfectly beautiful girl!" she exclaimed impulsively; "who is she, Louis?" "A model," he said calmly; but the careless and casual exposure of the canvas had angered him so suddenly that his own swift emotion astonished him.