"Yes, it is I. You asked me and I answer you. Whatever I said—I know only one thing now. And you know what that is."
"And where am I to look for sympathy and support in my own decision?
What can I think now about all that you have said to me?"
"You will never forget it, Kelly—whatever becomes of the girl who said it. Because it's the truth, no matter whose lips uttered it."
He released her hands and she went away to dress herself for the pose. When she returned and seated herself he picked up his palette and brushes and began in silence.
* * * * *
That evening he went to see John Buries on and found him smoking tranquilly in the midst of disorder. Packing cases, trunks, bundles, boxes were scattered and piled up in every direction, and the master of the establishment, apparently in excellent health, reclined on a lounge in the centre of chaos, the long clay stem of a church-warden pipe between his lips, puffing rings at the ceiling.
"Hello, Kelly!" he exclaimed, sitting up; "I've got to move out of this place. Rita told you all about it, didn't she? Isn't it rotten hard luck?"
"Not a bit of it. What did Billy Ogilvy say?"
"Oh, I've got it all right. Not seriously yet. What's Arizona like, anyway?"
"Half hell, half paradise, they say."