"The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. Deny me, if you please. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. "Alone?" "Not exactly, Sir. . ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen.
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