From the studio proper issued Julie's level tones, presumably in discussion with Peter Y. Satterlee, for Jean heard Craig's meditative whistle in another direction. Following a small passage, she came upon him studying the convolutions of a nervous jet of steam which found vent among the myriad chimneys of the nearer outlook. "Will it do?" she smiled. "Splendidly--almost too splendidly. Julie and the magnificent Satterlee are settling terms, I believe. Behold your studio, sculptress mine!" he added with a grandiloquent gesture. "This is the extra chamber of Julie's rhapsodies, otherwise a bachelor's bedroom about to be dedicated to nobler ends. Notice your view, Jean! New York, the Hudson, Jersey's hills, and the promise of sunsets beyond compare! And look here"--descending to practicality--"running water handy and my workshop next. We shall virtually work side by side." He pushed open the connecting door, and they entered the studio. Julie and a globular man in superfine raiment stood like ill-balanced caryatids in support of either end of the mantelpiece. "I agree to everything," he was saying. "The leases shall be ready to-morrow." The voice signaled some cell in Jean's brain. The face, which he turned immediately upon her, gave memory its instant clew, and she felt her skin go hot and cold under Peter Y. Satterlee's earnest gaze. "Have you a double, Mrs. Atwood?" he asked, after a moment's idle discussion of the studio. She tried to face him calmly. "A double? I think not." "Why?" demanded Julie. Satterlee pursued his investigations with maddening care. "It's a most extraordinary resemblance, particularly as to eyes," he said. "There was a young woman, a dentist's wife, living in a Harlem apartment of ours--the Lorna Doone, it was--who might be Mrs. Atwood's twin. You didn't marry a widow, sir?" he broke off jocularly. Atwood laughingly shook his head. "How curious!" he exclaimed. "What was her name?" "There you have me," admitted the agent, after brain-fagging efforts. "I can't recollect. I sold the property very soon." XXVI Rid of them all, Jean was tormented by a host of replies and courses of action, any one of which, she believed, would have blunted the edge of Julie's suspicion. For she was suspicious! There could be no doubt of it. To Craig she longed to offer some explanation, but her love bade her reject anything short of the whole truth, even as it told her that the whole truth was impossible. Every hour of her wedded happiness heaped proof on proof of the joy he took in the belief that he alone had filled her heart. And was he not right? Had not his dear image persisted--canonized, enshrined, worshiped--since their forest meeting! Paul had never displaced it. In truth, it had shone the brighter because of Paul. But how put this holy mystery in words!