King!" With a quick motion, she turned toward the other
portrait.
But the artist, who had guessed her purpose, caught her hand. "That
picture was yours, madam--this one is mine." There was a significant ring
of triumph in his voice.
Neither Aaron King nor Mrs. Taine had noticed three people who had entered
the rose garden, from the orange grove, through the little gate in the
corner of the hedge. Conrad Lagrange, Myra Willard and Sibyl were going to
the studio; deliberately bent upon interrupting the artist at his work.
They sometimes--as Conrad Lagrange put it--made, thus, a life-saving crew
of three; dragging the painter to safety when the waves of inspiration
were about to overwhelm him. Czar, of course, took an active part in these
rescues.
As the three friends approached the trellised arch that opened from the
garden into the yard, a few feet from the studio door, the sound of Mrs.
Taine's angry voice, came clearly through the open window.
Conrad Lagrange stopped. "Evidently, Mr. King has company," he said,
dryly.
"It is Mrs. Taine, is it not?" asked Sibyl, quietly, recognizing the
woman's voice.
"Yes," answered the novelist.
The woman with the disfigured face said hurriedly, "Come, Sibyl, we must
go back.
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