The kiss was a week old now--ought to have lost its power long ago; for there is power in a kiss from a pretty woman, even though a man does not love her. But this kiss had an extraordinary, an unprecedented quality. Other kisses--in days gone by--had given their little sensation and had straightway drifted into the crowd of impressions about the woman or about the general joyousness of life when the senses are normal and responsive. But this kiss--it had individuality, a body and soul of its own, a Jack’s bean-stalk kind of vitality. It was more vigorous day by day. He could feel it much more potently to-day than on the day it was given. Really, it did not make a very powerful impression then. He had experienced much better kisses. He had felt awkward--a little ridiculous--rather uneasy and anxious to escape. Now---- “Not a minute too soon--not a minute! As it is, I’m going to have the devil’s own time forgetting her.” What had become of all his projects for a career, for rapid striding into fame? Gone--quite gone. He simply wanted to stay at the studio and work on and on and yet on at the one picture--at the one figure in that picture. He had vaguely decided on a scheme for another picture when this should be done. What was it? Why, a picture of a woman sitting under a tree, her hands listless, her whole body relaxed and inert--except her eyes. Her eyes were to be winging into the depths of the infinite. He had planned out the contrast between the eyes, so intensely, so swiftly alive, and the passive rest of her. And who was this woman? Rix! He had still more vaguely planned a third picture. Of what? Rix again. “Not a minute too soon? By Heaven, a minute too late!” “Well, what of it?” demanded he gloomily of his gloomy self. Why, pay the bill. Pay like a man. “I couldn’t marry her if I would. I wouldn’t marry her if I could. But I can pay the bill for making a fool of myself.” He glowered savagely around. “The next time a good-looking woman comes here,” he muttered, “I’ll take to my heels and hide in the woods till she’s gone. I see I’m no longer to be trusted in female society. At my age--with my plans--after all I’ve been through--to make such an easy ass of myself!” He sat down despondently on the bench--sprang up--for was it not there--lying there--just where he had seated himself--that he had first seen her? He glanced round the studio. He groaned. Everything in it reminded him of her; and there, in the center, in the most favorable light, on the easel--was she herself! He rushed outdoors. Sunshine shimmering and sparkling on the foliage--he could see her, the yellow hair aflame with sunbeams, flitting gracefully through the aisles of the forest! A heavy bill it was to be! But he set his teeth. “She is not for me, nor I for her. If she were here now I’d talk to her just as I did. But, thank God, I didn’t realize until I had done the only thing that’s sane and honorable. I wonder how long it will be before I can begin to forget?”