The picture on the floor was that of a woman whose age might be anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five; a woman of the great world of fashion, of folly, of intrigue, perhaps of vice. Her dress was a rich ball costume, exposing the white flesh of her beautiful arms, her perfect shoulders, and her pearly tinted throat and bosom. Like the other, her face was oval in shape, but seemed less perfect in its contour. There was a certain lack of delicacy and softness about the outline that suggested the fierce chase after the sham pleasures of the great social world. The rest of the features were in harmony with this idea. The beautiful mouth was hard and cruel. The lips and cheeks were bright as if artificially tinted, or flushed with wine. The eyes were bold and the pupils seemed expanded as with belladonna. The nostrils of the finely shaped nose were full and sensual. Her luxuriant brown hair, singularly like that of the portrait above her in color, she wore in the late French mode, combed back from her high, broad forehead and twisted into a massive device at the top. Her eyebrows were unnaturally dark. An artificial air pervaded the entire picture--one felt that she had an artificial soul. A perfect prototype of Folly's feverish and heartless world. As the artist stood gazing from one to the other, the curious vexed and puzzled expression that had come into his face once before that day returned. He approached closely to the work as if to examine it more minutely. As he bent low over the face on the easel he heard the street door open. He started guiltily, and hastily turned both pictures to the wall. A moment later a tall, fair-haired man of about his own age entered without knocking. It was Harry Lawton, the artist's most intimate friend. "Julian, old boy, how goes it?" he said, cheerily. "Pretty well, Harry; come in." "Yes, I should do that any way. I don't seem to be any too welcome, however." "Nonsense, Harry, of course you are welcome; I am very glad, in fact, to see you, just now. "Well, that's better; although I must say your face doesn't indicate excessive joy." "Sit down; not there--here by the door; I want to show you something." "Oh, some new and wonderful work of your transcendent genius, I suppose. By the way, how is the picture for the Salon getting along?" "Tediously, Harry; I seem to have lost the spirit of the thing." "Found too much spirit of another kind, perhaps." "No, not that. I have been a model of abstinence of late." "And the heavens do not fall? "No--yes--that is--let your tongue rest for a moment, please, and use your eyes." While the artist had been speaking he had taken the large screen from before the window and moved his easel into a stronger light. Upon it he now placed the two portraits in their former position. The effect upon the other was vigorous and immediate.