The Sacred Fount

hat disaster. I succeeded, by vigilance, in preventing my late companion from carrying Mrs. Server off: I had no wish to see her studied — by anyone but

march were the all too ample stage. She understood me, as I meant, that she had better leave me to get at the truth — owing me some obligation, as she did, for so much of it as I had already communicated. This step was of course a tacit pledge that she should have the rest from me later on. I knew of some pictures in one of the rooms that

on my being too struck with her question for an immediate answer — “I hadn’t managed to interest him. Of course you know why!” she laugh

d, and I helped them out and pieced them together — these remarks had for me, I was to find, unexpected sugg

know what her situation is?” she went on while I doubtless appeared to be sunk in

” I was thor

ed as we paused, for admiration, in the doorway. The high frescoed ceiling arched over a floor so highly polished that it seemed to reflect the faded pastels set, in rococo borders, in the wa

d the other. “Do y

laugh, one of her be

on to wonder if the question mightn’t be cleared up on the spot. There was no question, I had compunctiously made up my mind, for Mrs. Server; but now I should see the proof of that conclusion. The proof of it would be, between her and her imputed lover, the absence of anything that was not perfectly natural. Mrs. Server, with her eyes raised to the painted dome, with response charmed almost to solemnity in her exquisite face, struck me at this moment, I had to concede, as more than ever a person to have a lover imputed. The place, save for its pictures of later date, a triumph of th

uld see in what they were so absorbed; but I checked her in the movement, raising my hand in a friendly admonition to wait. We waited then, face to face, looking at each other as if to catch a strain of music. This was what I had intended, for it had just come to me that one of the voices was in the air and that it had imposed close attention. The distinguished painter listened while — to all appearance — Gilbert Long did, in the presence of the picture, the explaini

; but the phenomenon of his, of all people, dealing in that article. It put before me the question of whether, in these strange relations that I believed I had thus got my glimpse of, the action of the person “sacrificed” mightn’t be quite out of proportion to the resources of that person. It was as if these elements might really multiply in the transfer made of them; as if the borrower practically found himself — or herself — in possession

er vibration of a chord already stirred; nevertheless I was struck with her saying, as a result of more remembrance than I had attributed to her “Oh yes, — the man with the mask in his hand!” On our joining the others I expressed regret at our having turned up too late for the

nce the evening before as during the so much longer interval of which I had originally to take account. He had altered almost like Grace Brissenden — he looked fairly distinguished. I said to myself that, without his stature and certain signs in his dress, I should probably not have placed him. Engrossed an instant with this view and with not losing touch of the une

smile at Long, who, still looking pleasantly co

of Mrs. Server, “to know what it means?” The figure represented is a young man in black — a quaint, tight black dress, fashioned in years long past; with a pale, lean, livid face and a stare, from eyes without eyebrows, like that of some whitened old-world clown. In his hand he holds an object that strikes the

ver replied. “One could call it — though that d

. “Isn’t it much rather the Mask of Life? It’s the man’s own

wful grimace!” Mrs

epeated, “is Life, and he’s going to put it

’s what I mean,” said Mrs. Server

now said nothing, “is extremely studied and, when you caref

Server good-humouredly insisted.

nt before replying. “He thinks

g mask? What

ly seeing what he meant — “it does

eserve,” she continued to me, “that I should say the gentle

among us here, on this occasion — I mean some face in our party — that I can’t think of.” We had our eyes again on the ominous figure.

’s reference having again, in a flash, become il

ng for the first time, “I’ve an idea that you’d give me the

. Server blandly took upon herself t

ur companion laughed. “T

y were natural. I couldn’t have made it out that they were not. But there was something, all the same, t

his readiness had suddenly deserted him. “I don’

nundrum launched by Obert, and Mrs. Server’s curiosity rema

ponsibility I l

ring, but unable, to sneeze. “I see the fellow — yet I do

m us and not turning, “the resemblance, which I shouldn’

” — and Obert g

ceded with her head on one side, bu

e Mask, and, the others being out of earshot, he reminded me that I had promised him the night before in the smoking-room to give him to-day the knowledge I had then withheld. If I had announced that I was on the track of a discovery, pray had I made it yet, and what was it, at any

h — whimsical, fanciful, funny

view. “They strike y

f mind? Surely. Don’t you? He talk

g.” It was highly interesting to me to hear at last of Long’s “type o

ining, lingering eyes that we wouldn’t be surprised at her transports if we suspected what her entertainer, whom she had never known for such a humourist, was saying. Inste

but I should not preserve that calm unless I pulled myself well together. I made the effort, facing my sharp interlocutor; and I think it was at this point that I fully measured my dismay. I had grown — that was what was the matter with me — precipitately, preposterously anxious. Instead of dropping, the discomfort produced in me by Mrs. Brissenden had deepened to agitation, and this in spite of the fact that in the brief interval nothing worse, nothing but what was right, had happened. Had I myself suddenly fallen so much in love with Mrs. Server that the care for h

er yesterday afternoon? She darts from flower to flower, but she clings, fo

” I replied, “just now at me.

Obert said, still w

. “Do you mean he stru

me down, she has kept alighting. She inaugurated it, the instant she arrived, with me, and e

e brute! She’s as charmin

e, and to every blessed male. It’s as if she were too awfully afraid one wouldn’t take it in. If she but knew how one does! However,” my friend continued, “you’ll reco

“Different

was when I painted her. There’s

ask you what. I don’t myse

nging off their retreat, in short, in the best order. It struck me somehow as a retreat, and yet I insisted to myself, once more, on its being perfectly natural. At the high door, which stood open, they stopped a moment and looked back at us — looked frankly, soci

said. “But what’s the way s

o find out what that remarkable quantity is. What you do perceive has at all events given me so much to think about that it doubtless ought to serve me for the present. I feel I ought to let you know that you’ve made me also perceive the Brissendens.” I of course remembered what I ha

feebly repeat it

Brissendens I shall see what I can do with her. You’ve given me an analogy, and I declare I find it dazzling. I don’t see the end of what may be done with it. If Brissenden’s paying for his wife, for her amazing second bloom, who’s paying for Mrs. Server? Isn’t that — what do the newspapers call it? — the missing word? Isn’t it perhap

y the case of the Brissendens, there would be no danger at all of his finding it. If, accordingly, I was nervous for Mrs. Server, all I had to do was to keep him on this false scent. Since it was not she who was paid for, but she who possibly paid, his fancy might harmlessly divert him till the party should disperse.

me person I painted. It’s exactly like Mrs. Brissenden’s having been fo

set you digging so hard. However, dig on your side, by all mean

natur

, “that success in such an inquiry may perhaps be more embarrassing than failure.

e immediately took me up — “but positively honou

ittle. “Honour

count of when fairly played — resting on psychologic signs alone, it’s a high

destitute of a material clue. If I had a material clue I should feel ashamed: the fact would be deterrent. I start, for my part, at any rate, quite in the dark — or in a darkness lighted, at best, by what you have called the torch of my analogy. The anal

companion pulled up at the door of the roo

ncomfortably reflected that it was just

He wasn’t present — that is he wasn’t present in her life at all — when I painted

th, and I should only have spoiled everything by inviting him to be definite. This was a little of a worry, for I should have liked to know; but on the other hand I felt my track at present effectually covered. “Well

his wife’s bloated stat

n it. Given his wife’s bloated state, his own shrunken one was what was to

we don’t

unfortunately,” I repl

to be in this manner we were playing the game; but I indulgently questioned it in the light of its not yet having assisted him. He answered that the minutes we had just passed were what had made the difference; it had sprung from the str

ng but

ted. “Or it’s all in her. I

on — for I wholly trusted his perception — left me so much in his debt. “That’s wha

to heed my question. He was wrapped in

a question o

is face. “So it is. I leave it to you. I don’t care.” His drop had the usual suddenness of the drops of the artisti

In what sen

of creature who could

reat bar to that is that such a sort o

tter. I give him, at any rate

present! You do see, then, that our psychologi

le woman!” He seemed somehow satisfied; he threw i

elling you,” I impatientl

ype="