Helen's face flooded crimson as her glance fell upon the gloves. Even though they were black, they were startlingly suggestive to her, and her thought instantly reverted to the one, so bright-hued, which she had found in the inner pocket of her husband's overcoat some months previous.
Had she to-day inadvertently stumbled upon the solution of that mystery which had never ceased to rankle, with exceeding bitterness, in her heart from that day to this?
There was still much to be done before the picture would be finished, though it was a good deal further along than most of its companions. Enough had been accomplished, however, to show that there had been no lack of interest on the part of the artist while at work upon it.
Who was she—this blue-eyed, brown-haired siren in glittering black? When and where had the portrait been painted? Had the woman come there, to John's room, for sittings? Or was she some one whom he met often, and had painted from memory? Helen did not believe she could be a model; there was too much about her that hinted at high life, and of habitual association with the fashionable world—possibly of the stage.
She stood a long time before the easel, studying every line of the lovely face until she found that, with all its beauty, there was a suggestion of craftiness and even cruelty in the dark-blue eyes and in the lines about the mouth and sensuous chin.
A step behind her caused Helen to start and turn quickly, to find Monsieur Jacques almost beside her, his eyes fastened intently, and in unmistakable surprise, upon the picture she had discovered.
"Who is she?" she demanded, almost sharply, and voicing the query she had just put to herself.
"Madame, I have never before looked upon the picture—I did not even know that Monsieur Hungerford had attempted a portrait," gravely returned the artist. "It is finely done, however," he added approvingly.
"Has no woman been here for sittings?"
"No, madame; no one except our own models—I am sure not. That is not allowed in my studio without my sanction and supervision," was the reply. "It may be simply a study, original with monsieur; if so, it is very beautiful, and holds great promise," the man concluded, with hearty appreciation.