"Would it?" asked Samson, simply. He glanced at his watch. "Two
minutes up," he announced. "The model will please resume the pose. By
the way, may I drive with you to-morrow afternoon?"
* * * * * The next afternoon, Samson ran up the street steps of the Lescott
house, and rang the bell, and a few moments later Adrienne appeared.
The car was waiting outside, and, as the girl came down the stairs in
motor coat and veil, she paused and her fingers on the bannisters
tightened in surprise as she looked at the man who stood below holding
his hat in his hand, with his face upturned. The well-shaped head was
no longer marred by the mane which it had formerly worn, but was close
cropped, and under the transforming influence of the change the
forehead seemed bolder and higher, and to her thinking the strength of
the purposeful features was enhanced, and yet, had she known it, the
man felt that he had for the first time surrendered a point which meant
an abandonment of something akin to principle.
She said nothing, but as she took his hand in greeting, her fingers
pressed his own in handclasp more lingering than usual.
Late that evening, when Samson returned to the studio, he found a
missive in his letter-box, and, as he took it out, his eyes fell on the
postmark. It was dated from Hixon, Kentucky, and, as the man slowly
climbed the stairs, he turned the envelope over in his hand with a
strange sense of misgiving and premonition.