martha felt herself genuinely surprised, puzzled, and disappointed at the result of the meeting which she had worked so hard to bring about. nothing could be more incontestably evident than that her brother and her friend had not proved sympathetic—did not “hit it off.” what was the reason? how could both of them be so perfectly congenial to her and still uncongenial to each other? it was a painful mystery, to which she tried in vain to find the key.

next morning sonia did not come to the atelier at her usual time, and martha painted on without her in pronounced despondency of spirit. when she had quite given the princess up, she looked around, and, to her delight, saw sonia placing her easel, and preparing to go to work, a short distance off. she thought her friend looked a little pale and ill; but when she managed presently to catch her eye,{132} she received an affectionate smile from her, which gave her a certain amount of reassurance.

when the interval for lunch came, and they went off together to the crémerie, martha waited for her friend to introduce the subject so near to her heart, and was surprised when she led the talk in an entirely different direction.

it had been much the same with harold after their guest had left the evening before. beyond a rather preoccupied and spiritless assent to all she had to say about the beauty of the princess, he had seemed more or less indifferent on the subject, and had plunged with zest into the discussion of other things. martha could not altogether wonder at this, for she had never seen her adored friend appear to so little advantage. her brother, however, had seemed to her charming, though not, of course, at his very best, and she expected that sonia would at least say that he was handsome and agreeable. when it appeared that she was going to say nothing at all, martha boldly took the initiative, and asked:

“what do you think of harold?”

“think of him? oh, i think he’s very{133} good-looking, though less like his sister than i could wish.”

“oh, sonia, don’t tease me! if i thought you meant that, i should give you up, both as an artist and a friend. but, really, did you like him or not?”

“i could hardly say ‘not’ to that heartfelt appeal,” said sonia, smiling; “and, indeed, i don’t feel inclined to. i liked him, of course. but, my dear, i told you only the truth when i said i was sick to death of men. etienne is the solitary exception. i like him for the reason that he did say a decent word to me this morning, and i really believe he thinks i am beginning to daub with promise.”

martha saw that there was no hope, so with profound disappointment she gave up, and said no more.

as for sonia herself, never had she been in a state of such abject self-abasement. she had donned her gorgeous raiment and gone off to that dinner in exultant self-confidence, and had never doubted her ability to conform circumstances to her will, and to make exactly the impression upon harold which she desired him to have. what, then, was the secret of her complete and humiliating failure? she asked her{134}self this question, and immediately tried to shut fast her ears to the answer which her heart gave. she had confidently believed, up to this hour of her life, that her woman’s pride was strong enough for any demands which she could possibly make upon it; but it had failed her. she had passed a sleepless night after that dinner, and it took tremendous effort to go to her work next morning. she did it only because she knew that if she did not the news of her absence would reach harold, and she could not endure the thought of the motive to which he might attribute it. perhaps the most poignant recollection which rankled in sonia’s mind was the thought that, in her helplessness, she had made an appeal to him by that look which he had answered with such strength-giving kindness. it had enabled her to get through with the remaining time; but now, as she thought of it, she felt that he had taken it as an appeal of weakness which he had been strong and merciful enough to respond to.

this thought, whenever it recurred, made her cheeks tingle.

and what could she do to right herself? she dared not make any more self-confident plans,{135} only to have them end in fresh humiliation. she now felt afraid of seeing harold, and it seemed to her that the utmost that was in her power was to be regular and faithful to her work, in the hope that the report of such a sensible course would reach his ears.

martha made a weak little effort to get her friend to come to her again, but to this she received such a faint response that she let the subject drop. all sorts of conjectures were busy in her mind to account for the present phenomena. she even wondered if she and her brother, with their american education and ideas, could have done anything which offered an affront to the state and dignity of their princess-guest. but this could hardly be. sonia was as friendly and affectionate as ever, though she now seemed to wish to confine their intercourse to the limits of the atelier, and did not even ask her to come to her own apartments. so martha was free to give up all her spare time to her brother, and they had numerous trips to the theater and opera; but somehow the solitude à deux with her beloved harold had not the zest in it which she had counted on beforehand. he was certainly changed, this brother of hers. he had grown{136} more serious, and was given to long silences. she even thought that it was an effort to him to be so much in her society, and that he would perhaps prefer to be alone. this was a hard blow to martha, but she bore it without making a sign, and was glad of the excuse which her work gave her to be much away from him. he also had important business in paris, and often worked for many hours at a time, which, as martha told herself, accounted for his rather careworn expression. she even thought he was getting thin, and begged him not to stay on because of her, as she would far rather give up her lessons and join her mother than be a trouble and injury to him. this, however, he would not listen to, and he even declared it his intention to stay in paris until after the opening of the salon, now only a week or so off.

day after day went by, and although sonia and martha were together at least one half of their conscious time, they seemed to have in some way gone backward instead of forward in their intimacy. they still lunched together daily, and had ample opportunity for talk; but there seemed now a dearth of topics such as they had never been aware of before, and a{137} sense of distance had arisen which made it hard for martha to realize the familiarity and nearness which had marked their former intercourse.

one afternoon, when the work had been going more than usually well, and the model had been more than usually interesting, sonia and martha, their easels side by side, had lingered in the atelier after every one else had gone. it was very agreeable to be able to paint and talk together, and the princess, whose carriage had been announced some time before, gladly agreed to wait with martha until hers should arrive.

while they were talking, a knock was heard at the door, and as all rules were relaxed at this hour, both women called out, “entrez!”

the door was opened, and around the corner of the old sail-cloth screen the tall figure of harold appeared. the day was raw and chilly, and he wore a fur-lined coat with its large fur collar drawn close around his throat, and carried his high hat and his stick in his hand.

at sight of him martha uttered a little exclamation of pleasure, and gaily called to him{138} to come on. sonia, in spite of the jerk at her heart-strings and the rush of blood through all her veins, felt, taken unprepared as she was, a sudden sense of strength and self-possession. her color deepened, and by a swift motion she drew herself erect; and as she stood there in her old green skirt and red silk blouse, she looked so workman-like and charming that, as martha drew her brother forward toward their easels, her heart quite glowed with pride in both her dear companions. she always adored harold in that coat, and sonia in that dress, and her sensitive organism seemed to be receiving impressions of pleasure from the minds of each. harold stood still, a little distance off, and bowed, with a look that expressed some hesitation or uncertainty. looking past his sister and at her friend, he said:

“do you permit me to look at your work?”

“oh, if you care to,” said sonia in a light and natural tone. “it’s a mere daub of a study. one goes through a great deal of discouragement in a place like this, and a great deal of one’s time is spent in acquiring a knowledge of one’s ignorance. after that is quite mastered, things get easier. i think i{139} may say that i have graduated in that branch of study, and am now ready to go on to the more advanced ones.”

harold stood still, and looked at her picture. she was thinking how natural it would be to ask him if he thought she had improved. he was thinking how natural it would be to tell her that she had. martha was thinking how beautiful and full of charm they both were, and almost wishing that the atelier could be filled with students to look at such models.

it occurred to her now that harold remained silent unnecessarily long, and she was afraid that he did not appreciate her friend’s work; so she herself began to speak in voluble praise of it.

sonia felt a strong impulse to check her, and to explain to her that he was always silent when he really liked a thing exceedingly, and that she therefore felt delighted that he said nothing.

harold, however, forced himself to utter a few words of praise that sounded very stiff and conventional, and a sort of bewildered look, which martha could not understand, came into his eyes. sonia understood it by its reflec{140}tion in her own heart. she felt as if she were in some strange, confusing dream, where the conditions around her were sad and constrained, and yet which she felt she must hold on to and keep conscious of, lest they should vanish and leave her utterly empty-hearted, estranged, and desolate. while martha exhibited her own work, and proceeded to pick it to pieces in imitation of what etienne would say to-morrow, the man and woman standing behind her, so near that they almost touched, were feeling, from this proximity, a force that went to the very deeps of both their natures. hardness, resentment, wounded pride, regret—all these were parts of this force in each; but there was in it, too, something stronger than any of them, something that warned sonia that she had better not trust herself, at the same moment that harold turned abruptly away, and said that he had an engagement, and could not wait longer. he explained in a hurried, confused speech, out of which it was hard to get any intelligent meaning, that he had forgotten martha’s need of the carriage, and had kept it waiting somewhere for him, which was his excuse for coming to the atelier to see if she had waited or was gone.{141}

martha saw by his manner that something was wrong, and made haste to put up her brushes, and follow him into the cloak-room, insisting that sonia should come also, as she objected to leaving her there alone.

sonia obediently did as she was told, but she felt as if she were stumbling along half blindly, and had not the will-power to object or protest.

she put on her hat, and was reaching for her heavy cloak, when a strong, brown hand, specked with two small dark moles just below the thumb, took it down from the peg, and folded it around her.

as she reached to draw to the collar, her hand touched his. if the sight of that hand had been familiar to her, what was its touch? she felt herself trembling, and her quick breaths almost suffocated her. she had just power to control herself until she was in her carriage, and alone. then, falling back upon the cushions, her eyes closed, and she passed into a state of semi-consciousness.

she did not really faint, for she was all the time aware that the necessity for self-control was for the moment gone, and that she could rest, and cease to fight.{142}

long before the carriage stopped at her own door she had recovered, and realized it all. she knew that, miserable as the last two years had been, she had gradually been gaining strength, and recovering her power for the struggle of life. she might have gone on, and met the future bravely, if she had never seen this man again. not now, however—not after she had heard his voice, and met his eyes, and touched his hand. this encounter had deprived her of her strength so absolutely that she longed only for the safety to be found in flight.

but how would that sudden flight appear to him? that was the question.