"To hide it away," was the level-noted reply. And again their glances came together.
"What was the nature of that canvas," he finally asked, "the canvas that caused the accident!"
There was a silence of several seconds before she answered.
"It was a Bouguereau!"
He was able to smile as he studied her in the shadow of the weather-bleached doorway. He understood, at last, the grim valor of her gaze. And she saw that he understood, and seemed glad of it.
"It's all ridiculous, of course," he said with his renewing smile of comprehension. "But it's at least given me the chance of seeing you again."
She in turn studied him for a moment or two with her intent eyes. Then she slowly changed color.
"I'm sorry," she finally said.
"About what?"
Her slow look back over her shoulder had not escaped him. But he was quite satisfied to stand and stare at her. She
