“It is finished?”
“Yes, at last it’s done.”
“Has—have you shown—I suppose he has seen it?”
Garstin shook his head, and a dark lock of hair fell over his forehead.
“He doesn’t even know it is finished, the ruffian! He’s given me a damned lot of trouble. I’ll keep him on the gridiron a bit longer. Grilling will do him good.”
“Then I am the first?”
“Yes, you are the first.”
“Thank you, Dick,” she said soberly. “May I go up now?”
“Yes, come on!”
He went before her and mounted the stairs, taking long strides. She followed him eagerly, yet with a feeling of apprehension. What would it be—this portrait finished at last? Dick Garstin was cruelly fond of revelation. She thought of his judge who ought to be judged, of other pictures of his. Had he caught and revealed the secret of Arabian?