... Here Thurley’s mind wandered back to the old man’s confession, “I heard Bliss Hobart sing,” and she was lost in reverie until she caught again the master’s earnest voice as he advised all young artists to see statuary by lamplight in order to find the ivory shades of light and dark shadows that daytime never reveals, not to put more color in the sunrise than did Dame Nature nor carmine on young lips nor fat greens in the summer foliage. “For then,” he said, smiling wisely, “you cease to be artists, but become dreamy and conceited liars! Be sincere; no matter what you may believe, be sincere.” After which he sat down as confused as a schoolboy, protesting against the applause, admitting in an undertone to Ernestine Christian that “America was too wonderful, her food too sophisticated, her women too daring.” Then Lissa tried to attack him from the other side with some silly question which caused the old man to lapse into his Alsatian jargon, “Tè, Matame, je ne sais pas—” Thurley left the party early; Caleb told her afterwards that Bliss was disappointed for he wanted the master to hear her sing. She took a delight in having cheated him of the request. She went to her bedroom to rummage among her belongings until she found an overposed stage picture of herself as _Violette_ in “Traviata” and she inscribed it to Bliss Hobart, sealing it in an envelope and marking it, “For the album—could not find the other.” She said her dutiful good night to Miss Clergy, looking with magnanimous pity at the frail ghost lady who patted her white, ringed hand and said as she had done so many hundreds of times, “How lovely you are, Thurley—and how proud I am! You have never given me any anxiety—not for a moment.... What a girl you are and what a joy it has been!” To-night, Thurley lingered a moment longer than usual. “Do you think I shall never love?” she asked nervously. Miss Clergy sat up in bed, clutching her cashmere shawl in excitement. “Love a man?” she asked breathlessly. “Oh, my child, it would only bring harm!” Thurley soothed her as if she were a child. “I won’t break my promise—not even after I repay you—and I’ll never repay you if I keep on buying pretties, will I? What an extravagant goose I’m getting to be, vying with every one else for the brightest trifles!” She was talking more to herself. Miss Clergy misunderstood her meaning. “Never repay me, Thurley! What do I want with money? All I have will be yours, now do you understand? All I have!” she whispered hoarsely. “Go to sleep, there’s a dear,” Thurley said swiftly, “and when you watch my flirtations, remember they are only to make the stage loves the more real.” Turning off the light she left the ghost lady to her haunted memories.