"Well, then, I wish I had a barometer," said she. "The hurricane comes down without warning. But I'm not nervous--at least, I don't mean to be. It is just one of Frank's ridiculous notions. All the same, as he said last night, when he does do a really good portrait it has a very definite effect on him." "In what way? I don't understand." "Do you remember his picture of Mr. Bracebridge? It was in the Academy the year after his portrait of me, though it was painted first. You know every one said it was wicked to paint a thing like that--that he might as well have painted Mr. Bracebridge without any clothes on as without any body on." "Without any body on?" "Yes; somehow--even I felt it, and I am not artistic--Frank managed to paint his soul. I could have written an exhaustive analysis of Mr. Bracebridge's character from that portrait." "And the effect on Frank?" "Mr. Bracebridge is a charming man, you know," said Margery, "but he is really unable to tell the truth. It sounds very ridiculous, but for six weeks Frank really became the most awful liar." Jack stopped short. "But the thing is absurd. In any case, what does he mean by saying that he doesn't know what will happen when he paints himself? It seems to me that in the case of Mr. Bracebridge, so far from Frank putting a lot of himself into the picture, he unfortunately absorbed a lot of Mr. Bracebridge into himself." "Frank was quite unconscious he had become a liar," said Margery; "but what he means is this: he put a lot of his own personality into the picture--really the whole thing is so absurd that I am ashamed to tell you about it--and consequently weakened himself, or, as he would express it, emptied himself. And being in this state, Mr. Bracebridge's little weakness impressed itself on him. That certainly happened, and it seems to me only likely. We are all affected by any one with whom we are much taken up, but what Frank assumes is the loss of his own personality. That is absurd." "Frank was like a hypnotic subject, in fact," said Jack--"at least, they say that they give themselves up, and subject themselves to another's will. But even then--and, like you, I think the whole thing is nonsense--how will the painting of his own portrait affect him?" "Like this: he puts his whole personality into it and receives nothing in exchange; no other personality will, so to speak, feed him. Really, he is very silly." The sound of carriage-wheels caused them to turn in their stroll and walk back again to the house. "Incidentally," asked Jack, "how did he cease to be a liar?" Margery looked at him openly and frankly. "Oh, by painting me. I am very truthful." "Did he absorb any other characteristic?" "Yes; he became less fantastic for a time. You see I am very unimaginative." "Then you had better get him to paint another portrait of you while he is doing this. Won't that preserve the balance?"