Some months after John Bannister had spoken his ultimatum in thelibrary two drought-stricken men met on the Rialto. It was a close Juneevening, full of thirst.

　　"I could do with a drink," said the first man. "Several.""My tongue is black clear down to the roots," said the second.

　　"Let's go up to Kirk Winfield's," proposed the first man, inspired.

　　"Not for me," said the other briefly. "Haven't you heard about Kirk?

　　He's married!""I know--but----""And when I say married, I mean _married_. She's old JohnBannister's daughter, you know, and I guess she inherits her father'scharacter. She's what I call a determined girl. She seems to have madeup her mind that the old crowd that used to trail around the studioaren't needed any longer, and they've been hitting the sidewalk on oneear ever since the honeymoon.

　　"If you want to see her in action, go up there now. She'll be perfectlysweet and friendly, but somehow you'll get the notion that you don'twant to go there again, and that she can bear up if you don't. It'ssomething in her manner. I guess it's a trick these society girlslearn. You've seen a bouncer handling a souse. He doesn't rough-househim. He just puts his arm round his waist and kind of suggests heshould leave the place. Well, it's like that.""But doesn't Kirk kick? He used to like having us around."His friend laughed.

　　"Kick? Kirk? You should see him! He just sits there waiting for you togo, and, when you do go, shuts the door on you so quick you have tojump to keep from getting your coat caught in it. I tell you, those twoare about all the company either of them needs. They've got theNewly-weds licked to a whisper.""It's always the best fellows that get it the worse," said the otherphilosophically, "and it's always the fellows you think are safe too. Icould have bet on Kirk. Six months ago I'd have given you any odds youwanted that he would never marry.""And I wouldn't have taken you. It's always the way."The criticisms of the two thirsty men, though prejudiced, wereaccurate. Marriage had undeniably wrought changes in Kirk Winfield. Ithad blown up, decentralized, and re-arranged his entire scheme of life.

　　Kirk's was one of those natures that run to extremes. He had been awhole-hearted bachelor, and he was assuredly a much-married man. Forthe first six months Ruth was almost literally his whole world. Hisfriends, the old brigade of the studio, had dropped away from him in abody. They had visited the studio once or twice at first, but afterthat had mysteriously disappeared. He was too engrossed in hishappiness to speculate on the reasons for this defection: he only knewthat he was glad of it.

　　Their visits had not been a success.

　　Conversation had flowed fitfully. Some sixth sense told him that Ruth,though charming to them all, had not liked them; and he himself wasastonished to find what bull dogs they really were. It was odd how outof sympathy he felt with them. They seemed so unnecessary: yet what alarge part of his life they had once made up!

　　Something had come between him and them. What it was he did not know.

　　Ruth could have told him. She was the angel with the flaming sword whoguarded their paradise. Marriage was causing her to make unexpecteddiscoveries with regard to herself. Before she had always looked onherself as a rather unusually reasonable, and certainly not a jealous,woman. But now she was filled with an active dislike for these quiteharmless young men who came to try and share Kirk with her.

　　She knew it was utterly illogical. A man must have friends. Life couldnot be forever a hermitage of two. She tried to analyse her objectionto these men, and came to the conclusion that it was the fact that theyhad known Kirk before she did that caused it.

　　She made a compromise with herself. Kirk should have friends, but theymust be new ones. In a little while, when this crazy desire to keepherself and him alone together in a world of their own should have lefther, they would begin to build up a circle. But these men whosevocabulary included the words "Do you remember?" must be eliminated oneand all.

　　Kirk, blissfully unconscious that his future was being arranged for himand the steering-wheel of his life quietly taken out of his hands,passed his days in a state of almost painful happiness. It nevercrossed his mind that he had ceased to be master of his fate andcaptain of his soul. The reins were handled so gently that he did notfeel them. It seemed to him that he was travelling of his own free willalong a pleasant path selected by himself.

　　He saw his friends go from him without a regret. Perhaps at the bottomof his heart he had always had a suspicion of contempt for them. He hadtaken them on their surface value, as amusing fellows who were goodcompany of an evening. There was not one of them whom he had ever knownas real friends know each other--not one, except Hank Jardine; andHank had yet to be subjected to the acid test of the new conditions.

　　There were moments when the thought of Hank threw a shadow across hishappiness. He could let these others go, but Hank was different. Andsomething told him that Ruth would not like Hank.

　　But these shadows were not frequent. Ruth filled his life toocompletely to allow him leisure to brood on possibilities of futuretrouble.

　　Looking back, it struck him that on their wedding-day they had beenalmost strangers. They had taken each other blindly, trusting toinstinct. Since then he had been getting to know her. It wasastonishing how much there was to know. There was a fresh discovery tobe made about her every day. She was a perpetually recurring miracle.

　　The futility of his old life made him wince whenever he dared think ofit. How he had drifted, a useless log on a sluggish current!

　　He was certainly a whole-hearted convert. As to Saul of Tarsus, so tohim there had come a sudden blinding light. He could hardly believethat he was the same person who had scoffed at the idea of a man givingup his life to one woman and being happy. But then the abstract wifehad been a pale, bloodless phantom, and Ruth was real.

　　It was the realness of her that kept him in a state of perpetualamazement. To see her moving about the studio, to touch her, to look ather across the dinner-table, to wake in the night and hear herbreathing at his side.... It seemed to him that centuries might pass,yet these things would still be wonderful.

　　And always in his heart there was the gratitude for what she had donefor him. She had given up everything to share his life. She had weighedhim in the balance against wealth and comfort and her place among thegreat ones of the world, and had chosen him. There were times when thethought filled him with a kind of delirious pride: times, again, whenhe felt a grateful humility that made him long to fall down and worshipthis goddess who had stooped to him.

　　In a word, he was very young, very much in love, and for the first timein his life was living with every drop of blood in his veins.

　　* * * * *Hank returned to New York in due course. He came to the studio the samenight, and he had not been there five minutes before a leaden weightdescended on Kirk's soul. It was as he had feared. Ruth did not likehim.

　　Hank was not the sort of man who makes universal appeal. Also, he wasno ladies' man. He was long and lean and hard-bitten, and his supply ofconventional small talk was practically non-existent. To get the bestout of Hank, as has been said, you had to let him take his coat off andput his feet up on the back of a second chair and reconcile yourself tothe pestiferous brand of tobacco which he affected.

　　Ruth conceded none of these things. Throughout the interview Hank satbolt upright, tucking a pair of shoes of the dreadnought class coylyunderneath his chair, and drew suspiciously at Turkish cigarettes fromKirk's case. An air of constraint hung over the party. Again and againKirk hoped that Hank would embark on the epic of his life, but shynesskept Hank dumb.

　　He had heard, on reaching New York, that Kirk was married, but he hadlearned no details, and had conjured up in his mind the vision of ajolly little girl of the Bohemian type, who would make a fuss over himas Kirk's oldest friend. Confronted with Ruth, he lost a nerve whichhad never before failed him. This gorgeous creature, he felt, wouldnever put up with those racy descriptions of wild adventures which hadendeared him to Kirk. As soon as he could decently do so, he left, andKirk, returning to the studio after seeing him out, sat down moodily,trying to convince himself against his judgment that the visit had notbeen such a failure after all.

　　Ruth was playing the piano softly. She had turned out all the lightsexcept one, which hung above her head, shining on her white arms asthey moved. From where he sat Kirk could see her profile. Her eyes werehalf closed.

　　The sight of her, as it always did, sent a thrill through him, but hewas conscious of an ache behind it. He had hoped so much that Hankwould pass, and he knew that he had not. Why was it that two people socompletely one as Ruth and himself could not see Hank with the sameeyes?

　　He knew that she had thought him uncouth and impossible. Why could notHank have exerted himself more, instead of sitting there in thatstuffed way? Why could not Ruth have unbent? Why had not he himselfdone something to save the situation? Of the three, he blamed himselfmost. He was the one who should have taken the lead and made thingspleasant for everybody instead of forcing out conversationalplatitudes.

　　Once or twice he had caught Hank's eye, and had hated himself forunderstanding what it said and not being able to deny it. He had markedthe end of their old relationship, the parting of the ways, and that atragedy had been played out that night.

　　He found himself thinking of Hank as of a friend who had died. Whattimes they had had! How smoothly they had got on together! He could notrecall a single occasion on which they had fallen out, from the timewhen they had fought as boys at the prep. school and cemented theirfriendship the next day. After that there had been periods when theyhad parted, sometimes for more than a year, but they had always cometogether again and picked up the threads as neatly as if there had beenno gap in their intimacy.

　　He had gone to college: Hank had started on the roving life whichsuited his temperament. But they had never lost touch with each other.

　　And now it was all over. They would meet again, but it would not be thesame. The angel with the flaming sword stood between them.

　　For the first time since the delirium of marriage had seized upon him,Kirk was conscious of a feeling that all was not for the best in a bestof all possible worlds, a feeling of regret, not that he had married--themere thought would have been a blasphemy--but that marriage was such acomplicated affair. He liked a calm life, free from complications, andnow they were springing up on every side.

　　There was the matter of the models. Kirk had supposed that it was onlyin the comic papers that the artist's wife objected to his employingmodels. He had classed it with the mother-in-law joke, respecting itfor its antiquity, but not imagining that it ever really happened. AndRuth had brought this absurd situation into the sphere of practicalpolitics only a few days ago.

　　Since his marriage Kirk had dropped his work almost entirely. There hadseemed to be no time for it. He liked to spend his days going round thestores with Ruth, buying her things, or looking in at the windows ofFifth Avenue shops and choosing what he would buy her when he had madehis fortune. It was agreed upon between them that he was to make hisfortune some day.

　　Kirk's painting had always been more of a hobby with him than aprofession. He knew that he had talent, but talent without hard work isa poor weapon, and he had always shirked hard work. He had an instinctfor colour, but his drawing was uncertain. He hated linework, whileknowing that only through steady practice at linework could he achievehis artistic salvation. He was an amateur, and a lazy amateur.

　　But once in a while the work fever would grip him. It had gripped him afew days before Hank's visit. An idea for a picture had come to him,and he had set to work upon it with his usual impulsiveness.

　　This had involved the arrival of Miss Hilda Vince at the studio. Therewas no harm in Miss Vince. Her morals were irreproachable. Shesupported a work-shy father, and was engaged to be married to a younggentleman who travelled for a hat firm. But she was of a chattydisposition and no respecter of persons. She had posed frequently forKirk in his bachelor days, and was accustomed to call him by his firstname--a fact which Kirk had forgotten until Ruth, who had been out inthe park, came in.

　　Miss Vince was saying at the moment: "So I says to her, 'Kirk's justphoned to me to sit.' 'What! Kirk!' she says. 'Is _he_ doin' a bitof work for a change? Well, it's about time.' 'Aw, Kirk don't need towork,' I says. 'He's a plute. He's got it in gobs.' So----""I didn't know you were busy, dear," said Ruth. "I won't interruptyou."She went out.

　　"Was that your wife?" inquired Miss Vince. "She's got a sweet face.

　　Say, I read the piece about you and her in the paper. You certainly gota nerve, Kirk, breaking in on the millionaires that way."That night Ruth spoke her mind about Miss Vince. It was in vain thatKirk touched on the work-shy father, dwelt feelingly on the younggentleman who travelled in hats. Ruth had made up her mind. It wasthumbs down for Miss Vince.

　　"But if I'm to paint," said Kirk, "I must have models.""There must be hundreds who don't call you by your Christian name.""After about five minutes they all do," said Kirk. "It's a way they'vegot. They mean no harm."Ruth then made this brilliant suggestion: "Kirk, dear, why don't youpaint landscapes?"In spite of his annoyance, he laughed.

　　"Why don't I paint landscapes, Ruth? Because I'm not a landscapepainter, that's why.""You could learn.""It's a different branch of the trade altogether. You might just aswell tell a catcher to pitch.""Well, anyhow," reported Ruth with spirit, "I won't have that Vincecreature in the place again."It was the first time she had jerked at the reins or given any signthat she was holding them, and undoubtedly this was the moment at whichKirk should have said: "My dearest, the time has come for me to stateplainly that my soul is my own. I decline to give in to this absurdsuggestion. Marriage is an affair of give and take, not a circus whereone party holds the hoop while the other jumps through and shams dead.

　　We shall be happier later on if we get this clearly into our headsnow."What he did say was: "Very well, dear. I'll write and tell her not tocome."He knew he was being abominably weak, but he did not care. He even felta certain pleasure in his surrender. Big, muscular men are given tothis feebleness with women. Hercules probably wore an idiotic grin ofhappiness when he spun wool for Omphale.

　　Since then the picture had been laid aside, but Kirk's desire to be upand at it had grown with inaction. When a lazy man does make up hismind to assail a piece of work, he is like a dog with a bone.

　　* * * * *The music had stopped. Ruth swung round.

　　"What are you dreaming about Kirk?"Kirk came to himself with a start.

　　"I was thinking of a lot of things. For one, about that picture ofmine.""What about it?""Well, when I was going to finish it.""Why don't you?"Kirk laughed.

　　"Where's my model? You've scared her up a tree, and I can't coax herdown."Ruth came over to him and sat down on a low chair at his side. She puther arm round his waist and rested her head in the hollow of hisshoulder.

　　"Is he pining for his horrid Vince girl, the poor boy?""He certainly is," said Kirk. "Or at any rate, for some understudy toher.""We must think. Do they _all_ call you Kirk?""I've never met one who didn't.""What horrible creatures you artists are!""My dear kid, you don't understand the thing at all. When you'repainting a model she ceases to be a girl at all. You don't think of heras anything except a sort of lay-figure.""Good gracious! Does your lay-figure call you Kirk too?""It always looks as if it were going to."Ruth shuddered.

　　"It's a repulsive thing. I hate it. It gives me the creeps. I came inhere last night and switched on the light, and there it was, gogglingat me.""Are you getting nervous?"Ruth's face grew grave.

　　"Do you know, Kirk, I really believe I am. This morning as I wasdressing, I suddenly got the most awful feeling that something terriblewas going to happen. I don't know what. It was perfectly vague. I justfelt a kind of horror. It passed off in a moment or two; but, while itlasted--ugh!""How ghastly! Why didn't you tell me before? You must be run down. Lookhere, let's shut up this place and get out to Florida or somewhere forthe winter!""Let's don't do anything of the kind. Florida indeed! For the love ofMike, as Steve would say, it's much too expensive. You know, Kirk, weare both frightfully extravagant. I'm sure we are spending too muchmoney as it is. You know you sold out some of your capital only theother day.""It was only that once. And you had set your heart on that pendant.

　　Surely to goodness, if I drag you away from a comfortable home to livein a hovel, the least I can do is to----""You didn't drag me. I just walked in and sat down, and you couldn'tthink how to get rid of me, so in despair you married me.""That was it. And now I've got to set to work and make a fortuneand--what do you call it?--support you in the style to which you havebeen accustomed. Which brings us back to the picture. I don't suppose Ishall get ten dollars for it, but I feel I shall curl up and die if Idon't get it finished. Are you _absolutely_ determined about theVince girl?""I'm adamant. I'm granite. I'm chilled steel. Oh! Kirk, can't you finda nice, motherly old model, with white hair and spectacles? I shouldn'tmind _her_ calling you by your first name.""But it's absurd. I told you just now that an artist doesn't look onhis models as human beings while----""I know. I've read all about that in books, and I believed it then.

　　Why, when I married you, I said to myself: 'I mustn't be foolish.

　　Kirk's an artist, I mustn't be a comic-supplement wife and object tohis using models!' Oh, I was going to be so good and reasonable. Youwould have loved me! And then, when it came to the real thing, I foundI just could not stand it. I know it's silly of me. I know just as wellas you do that Miss Vince is quite a nice girl really, and is going tomake a splendid Mrs. Travelling Salesman, but that doesn't help me.

　　It's my wicked nature, I suppose. I'm just a plain cat, and that's allthere is to it. Look at the way I treat your friends!"Kirk started.

　　"You jumped!" said Ruth. "You jerked my head. Do you think I didn'tknow you had noticed it? I knew how unhappy you were when Mr. Jardinewas here, and I just hated myself.""Didn't you like Hank?" asked Kirk.

　　Ruth was silent for a moment.

　　"I wish you would," Kirk went on. "You don't know what a real white manold Hank is. You didn't see him properly that night. He was nervous.

　　But he's one of the very best God ever made. We've known each other allour lives. He and I----""Don't tell me!" cried Ruth. "Don't you see that that's just the reasonwhy I can't like him? Don't tell me about the things you and he didtogether, unless you want me to hate him. Don't you understand, dear?

　　It's the same with all your friends. I'm jealous of them for havingknown you before I did. And I hate these models because they come intoa part of your life into which I can't. I want you all to myself. Iwant to be your whole life. I know it's idiotic and impossible, but Ido.""You are my whole life," said Kirk seriously. "I wasn't born till I metyou. There isn't a single moment when you are not my whole life."She pressed her head contentedly against his arm.

　　"Kirk.""Yes?""Let _me_ pose for your picture.""What! You couldn't!""Why not?""It's terribly hard work. It's an awful strain.""I'm sure I'm as strong as that Vince girl. You ask Steve; he's seen methrow the medicine-ball.""But posing is different. Hilda Vince has been trained for it.""Well let me try, at any rate.""But----""Do! And I'll promise to like your Hank and not put on my grand mannerwhen he begins telling me what fun you and he used to have in the goodold days before I was born or thought of. May I?""But----""Quick! Promise!""Very well.""You dear! I'll be the best model you ever had. I won't move a muscle,and I'll stand there till I drop.""You'll do nothing of the kind. You'll come right down off thatmodel-throne the instant you feel the least bit tired."* * * * *The picture which Kirk was painting was one of those pictures whichthousands of young artists are working on unceasingly every day. Kirk'sideas about it were in a delightfully vague state. He had a notion thatit might turn out in the end as "Carmen." On the other hand, ifanything went wrong and he failed to insert a sufficient amount of wilddevilry into it, he could always hedge by calling it "A Reverie" or"The Spanish Maiden."Possibly, if the thing became too pensive and soulful altogether,he might give it some title suggestive of the absent lover at thebull-fight--"The Toreador's Bride"--or something of that sort. Theonly point on which he was solid was that it was to strike the Spanishnote; and to this end he gave Ruth a costume of black and orange andposed her on the model-throne with a rose in her hair.

　　Privately he had decided that ten minutes would be Ruth's limit. Heknew something of the strain of sitting to an artist.

　　"Tired?" he asked at the end of this period.

　　Ruth shook her head and smiled.

　　"You must be. Come and sit down and take a rest.""I'm quite all right, dear. Go on with your work.""Well, shout out the moment you feel you've had enough."He began to paint again. The minutes went by and Ruth made no movement.

　　He began to grow absorbed in his work. He lost count of time. Ruthceased to be Ruth, ceased even to be flesh and blood. She was justsomething he was painting.

　　"Kirk!"The sharp suddenness of the cry brought him to his feet, quivering.

　　Ruth was swaying on the model-throne. Her eyes were staring straightbefore her and her face was twisted with fear.

　　As he sprang forward she fell, pitching stiffly head foremost, as hehad seen men fall in the ring, her arms hanging at her sides; and hecaught her.

　　He carried her to the couch and laid her down. He hung for an instantin doubt whether to go for water or telephone for the doctor. Hedecided on the telephone.

　　He hung up the receiver and went back to Ruth. She stirred and gave alittle moan. He flew upstairs and returned with a pitcher of water.

　　When he got back Ruth was sitting up. The look of terror was gone fromher face. She smiled at him, a faint, curiously happy smile. He flunghimself on his knees beside her, his arm round her waist, and burstinto a babble of self-reproach.

　　He cursed himself for being such a brute, such a beast as to let herstand there, tiring herself to death. She must never do it again. Hewas a devil. He ought to have known she could not stand it. He was notfit to be married. He was not fit to live.

　　Ruth ruffled his hair.

　　"Stop abusing my husband," she said. "I'm fond of him. Did you catchme, Kirk?""Yes, thank God. I got to you just in time.""That's the last thing I remember, wondering if you would. You seemedsuch miles and miles away. It was like looking at something in a mistthrough the wrong end of a telescope. Oh, Kirk!""Yes, honey?""It came again, that awful feeling as if something dreadful was goingto happen. And then I felt myself going." She paused. "Kirk, I think Iknow now. I understand; and oh, I'm so happy!"She buried her face on his shoulder, and they stayed there silent, tillthere came a ring at the bell. Kirk got up. George Pennicut ushered inthe doctor. It was the same little old doctor who had ministered toGeorge in his hour of need.

　　"Feeling better, Mrs. Winfield?" he said, as he caught sight of Ruth.

　　"Your husband told me over the 'phone that you were unconscious.""She fainted," cried Kirk. "It was all through me. I-----"The doctor took him by the shoulders. He had to stretch to do it.

　　"You go away, young man," he said. "Take a walk round the block. Youaren't on in this scene."* * * * *Kirk was waiting in the hall when he left a few minutes later.

　　"Well?" he said anxiously.

　　"Well?" said the little doctor.

　　"Is she all right? There's nothing wrong, is there?"The doctor grinned a friendly grin.

　　"On the contrary," he said. "You ought to be very pleased.""What do you mean?""It's quite a commonplace occurrence, though I suppose it will seemlike a miracle to you. But, believe me, it has happened before. If ithadn't, you and I wouldn't be here now."Kirk looked at him in utter astonishment. His words seemed meaningless.

　　And then, suddenly, he understood, and his heart seemed to stand still.

　　"You don't mean-----" he said huskily.

　　"Yes, I do," said the doctor. "Good-bye, my boy. I've got to hurry off.

　　You caught me just as I was starting for the hospital."* * * * *Kirk went back to the studio, his mind in a whirl. Ruth was lying onthe couch. She looked up as the door opened. He came quickly to herside.

　　"Ruth!" he muttered.

　　Her eyes were shining with a wonderful light of joy. She drew his headdown and kissed him.

　　"Oh, Kirk," she whispered. "I'm happy. I'm happy. I've wanted this so."He could not speak. He sat on the edge of the couch and looked at her.

　　She had been wonderful to him before. She was a thousand times morewonderful now.