"No. It's eternal obsession. A painter's work is never ended. It goes on with some after they are asleep; and then they go crazy," he added, and laughed and laid his hand lightly and unthinkingly over hers where it rested on the arm of her chair. And he remained unaware of her delicate response to the contact. The stars were clear and liquid-bright, swarming in myriads in the June sky. A big meteor fell, leaving an incandescent arc which faded instantly. "I wonder what time it is," Be said. "You mustn't miss your train, must you?" "No." ... Suddenly it struck him that it would be one o'clock before he could get to the studio and call up Valerie. That would be too late. He couldn't awake her just for the pleasure of talking to her. Besides, he was sure to see her in the morning when she came to him for her portrait.... Yet--yet--he wanted to talk to her.... There seemed to be no particular reason for this desire. "I think I'll just step to the telephone a moment." He rose, and her fingers dropped from his hand. "You don't mind, do you?" "Not at all," she smiled. "The stars are very faithful friends. I'll be well guarded until you come back, Louis." What she said, for some reason, made him slightly uncomfortable. He was thinking of her words as he called up "long distance" and waited. Presently Central called him with a brisk "Here's your party!" And very far away he heard her voice: "I know it is _you_. Is it?" "Who?" "It is! I recognise your voice. But _which_ is it--Kelly or Louis or Mr. Neville?" "All three," he replied, laughing. "But which gentleman is in the ascendant? The god-like one? Or the conventional Mr. Neville? Or--the bad and very lovable and very human Louis?" "Stop talking-nonsense, Valerie. What are you doing?" "Conversing with an abrupt gentleman called Louis Neville. I _was_ reading." "All alone in your room?" "Naturally. Two people _couldn't_ get into it unless one of them also got into bed." "You poor child! What are you reading?" "Will you promise not to laugh?" "Yes, I will." "Then--I was reading the nineteenth psalm." "It's a beauty, isn't it," he said. "Oh, Louis, it is glorious!--I don't know what in it appeals most thrillingly to me--the wisdom or the beauty of the verse--but I love it." "It is fine," he said. "... And are you there in your room all alone this beautiful starry night, reading the psalms of old King David?" "Yes. What are you doing? Where are you?" "At Ashuelyn, my sister's home." "Oh! Well, it is perfectly sweet of you to think of me and to call me up--" "I usually--I--well, naturally I think of you. I thought I'd just call you up to say good night. You see my train doesn't get in until one this morning; and of course I couldn't wake you--" "Yes, you could. I am perfectly willing to have you wake me." "But that would be the limit!"