But the artist, who had guessed her purpose, caught her hand. "That picture was yours, madam--this one is mine." There was a significant ring of triumph in his voice. Neither Aaron King nor Mrs. Taine had noticed three people who had entered the rose garden, from the orange grove, through the little gate in the corner of the hedge. Conrad Lagrange, Myra Willard and Sibyl were going to the studio; deliberately bent upon interrupting the artist at his work. They sometimes--as Conrad Lagrange put it--made, thus, a life-saving crew of three; dragging the painter to safety when the waves of inspiration were about to overwhelm him. Czar, of course, took an active part in these rescues. As the three friends approached the trellised arch that opened from the garden into the yard, a few feet from the studio door, the sound of Mrs. Taine's angry voice, came clearly through the open window. Conrad Lagrange stopped. "Evidently, Mr. King has company," he said, dryly. "It is Mrs. Taine, is it not?" asked Sibyl, quietly, recognizing the woman's voice. "Yes," answered the novelist. The woman with the disfigured face said hurriedly, "Come, Sibyl, we must go back. We will not disturb Mr. King, now, Mr. Lagrange. You two come over this evening." They saw her face white and frightened. "I believe I'll go back with you, if you don't mind," returned Conrad Lagrange, with his twisted grin; "I don't think I want any of that in there, either." To the dog who was moving toward the studio door, he added; "Here, Czar, you mustn't interrupt the lady. You're not in her class." They were moving away, when Mrs. Taine's voice came again, clearly and distinctly, through the window. "Oh, very well. I wish you joy of your possession. I promise you, though, that the world shall never hear of this portrait of your mistress. If you dare try to exhibit it, I shall see that the people to whom you must look for your patronage know how you found the original, an innocent, mountain girl, and brought her to your studio to live with you. Fairlands has already talked enough, but my influence has prevented it from going too far. You may be very sure that from now on I shall not exert myself to deny it." The artist's friends in the rose garden, again, stopped involuntarily. Sibyl uttered a low exclamation. Conrad Lagrange looked at Myra Willard. "I think," he said in a low tone, "that the time has come. Can you do it?" "Yes. I--I--must," returned the woman. She spoke to the girl, who, being a little in advance, had not heard the novelist's words, "Sibyl, dear, will you go on home, please? Mr, Lagrange will stay with me. I--I will join you presently." At a look from Conrad Lagrange, the girl obeyed. "Go with Sibyl, Czar," said the novelist; and the girl and the dog went quickly away through the garden. In the studio, Aaron King gazed at the angry woman in amazement. "Mrs. Taine," he said, with quiet dignity, "I must tell you that I hope to make Miss Andrés my wife."