"That is where your studio is to stand," she whispered.
Howard suddenly turned.
"Where's the symbolic picture that you did? Did you destroy it."
"No; it's upstairs," answered Helen, flushing. "Please don't ask to see it."
But his wish prevailed, and Annabel was sent to bring the picture from the garret. She eyed her young mistress and her lover affectionately. Annabel's artistic sense of the fitness of things was satisfied at last.
"Why!" cried Helen, as she looked at the motley group, the disfiguring streak of paint, and the retreating figure of the rich young man, "that young man's face looks like you. I never saw that!"
"I did," said Howard. "It was the picture that first made me think"
"Think what?" demanded Helen.
"That you weren't meant for an artist," he answered hastily, pointing to the distorted drawing. Then he changed the subject. The literary significance of that
