A new thought struck him sharply and his spirits leaped upward. "You could go without me, Celeste. There's no reason why you should give up the pleasure because I have to----" "Dudley Sherrod," she interrupted, decisively, "you are hateful. I will not go a step without you. It is you who need the rest and the change. Write to Mr. Evans this afternoon and tell him you cannot do the pictures until next spring." "I can't do that, dear. They must be done at once," he said. "But you must have the two months in Florida," she persisted in troubled tones. "Why, dear, I have made preparations to leave on Saturday and this is Thursday. Won't you, please, for my sake, give up the pictures?" "Impossible," he said, firmly, rising suddenly. He pressed her hand softly and passed from the room, afraid to look back into her eyes. She sat perfectly still for many minutes, the puzzled expression deepening in her eyes. "To-morrow I will tell her all," he vowed, as he paced the floor of his studio. The memory of the distressed look in her eyes bore him down. He knew that he could not endure the sight of prolonged pain in those loving eyes, and what little wisdom he had at his command told him that to end the suspense quickly was the most charitable thing to do. "To-morrow, to-morrow," he repeated, feverishly. He groaned aloud with loathing for himself and shame of what the morrow was to bring. "I love her. How can I tell her that she is not my wife? How can I tell her that I deceived her deliberately? And what will she say, what will she do? Good God, what is to be the end of it? Will she submit or will she cry for the vengeance that is justly hers?" For the first time the agony of this question was beyond his power of suffering. His mind refused to consider it. He was dulled; he felt nothing--and presently there was a relief in feeling nothing. Up to that time his sensitive nature had responded to every grief. Of a sudden his mind refused grief; and the inspiration came to him to support that refusal. He shut out thoughts of Celeste, and let himself look forward to the happiness with Justine and his boy. The next day he faltered in his determination to tell Celeste, and the day after it was the same. He could not stand before her and look into her eyes and tell her. He was conscious of the fact that her troubled gaze was following him wherever he moved, that she seemed to be reading his thoughts. He grew more apathetic under the scrutiny. He took to good food as a refuge from his thoughts, and surprised her by asking for dainty dishes. He found some poetry, careless with fatalism, and instantly became a fatalist. He would let affairs take their course. The yearning for Justine dulled a little. But one day, entering his studio, expecting to find him at work, she was amazed to see him with a picture in his hand. He was looking at it eagerly. She could see the face. It was Justine Van.