She lifted a tear-stained face. "Vi," said Leighton, tensely, "did he follow?" Vi raised herself on her arms and stared at him for a moment before she gasped: "You fool, do you suppose I would have cared if he had followed?" Then shame gripped her, and she threw herself full-length again, face down. Her shoulders shook, but she made no sound. Leighton waited half an hour. He spent the time walking up and down and smoking cigarettes. He was no longer frowning. At the end of the half-hour he caught Vi by the arms and lifted her to her feet. "Come on," he said. Vi stared at him as one half-awakened. "I don't want to go anywhere," she said. "I'm very well here." "Nonsense!" said Leighton, "you don't realize what you're doing to yourself. On my word, you look positively puttyish." "Puttyish!" cried Vi, a flush of anger rising to her face. "Grapes, you're brutal! Since when have you learned to trample on a woman?" "That's better," said Leighton, coolly. "I thought it would rouse you a bit." Vi almost smiled at herself. She laid her hand on Leighton's arm and turned him toward the door. "And they still say that no man knows women," she said. She paused and looked back at the fragments of the statue. Her lips twisted. "Even boys," she added, "pick out our naked souls and slap them in our faces." As they walked slowly toward the flat, Vi said: "I know why you had to ask that question. I'm glad you did. You were misjudging Lew. But you can be sure of one thing: no one but us three ever saw that statue; I know now that no one but just Lew and myself were ever meant to see it. He didn't want to model me that way. When I asked for it, he hesitated, then suddenly he gave in." She paused for a moment, then she added, "I believe it's part of a man's job to know when to trample on women." CHAPTER XXXIII It was night at the flat. There was just chill enough in the air to justify a cozy little fire. Through the open windows came the low hum of London, subdued by walls and distance to the pitch of a friendly accompaniment to talk. In two great leathern chairs, half facing each other, Vi and Leighton sat down, the fire between them. They had been silent for a long time. Vi had been twisting her fingers, staring at them. Her lips were half open and mobile. She was even flushed. Suddenly she locked her hands and leaned forward. "Grapes," she said without a drawl, "I have seen myself. It is terrible. Nothing is left." Leighton rose and stepped into his den. He came back slowly with two pictures in his hands. "Look at these," he said. "If you were ten years older, you'd only have to glance at them, and they'd open a door to memory."