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Updated: May 8, 2025
Jensen while the repairs were making. She arranged with him to return next day with his belongings, and advanced a part of his salary for immediate expenses. Mary wanted him to come to her at once, both out of sympathy for his wretched circumstances, and because she wished thoroughly to know him before Stefan's return.
Not until this ministrant had seated herself at the foot of Miss Berber's couch did that lady refer to Stefan's request. Then, propping herself on her elbow, she at last looked full at Mary. What she saw evidently pleased her, for she allowed herself a slight smile. "Ah," she breathed, "an evening, or a house gown?" "Evening," interposed Stefan.
These showed much interest in Stefan's new picture, a large study of Mary in the guise of Demeter, for which she was posing seated, robed in her Berber gown. Miss Mason in particular was delighted with the painting, which she dubbed a "companion piece" to the Danae. The story of Constantine's decision against the two salon canvases got about and, amusingly enough, heightened the Byrds' popularity.
The week's interlude over, Mary's days reverted to their monotonous tenor. As November drew to a close, she began to think of Christmas, remembering how happy her last had been, and wondering if she could summon enough courage for an attempt to engage Stefan's interest in some kind of celebration. She now admitted to herself that she was actively worried about her relations with him.
Stefan's rule of a fourth-power relation, if not actually a law of nature, is a colourable imitation of one; and its employment has afforded a practical certainty that the sun's temperature, so far as it is definable, neither exceeds 12,000° C., nor falls short of 6,500° C. Mag., vol. xxiii. Roy. Jour. of Science, vol. i. Roy. Observatory, vol. i.; Comptes Rendus, t. cxxxi., p. 734; Astroph.
Mary had just dropped her pencil after a couple of hours' work on a new serial she was writing. She often worked now in Stefan's room. He was busy with a series of drawings of the war. He had tried different media pastel, ink, pencils, and chalks to see which were the easiest for sedentary work. "It's good-bye to oils," he had said, "I couldn't paint a foot from the canvas."
She rose, and, coming round the table, kissed his rough hair. He caught her hand, and pressed it gratefully. "You are good to me, Mary." The matter settled, Stefan's spirit soared. He rang up the French Line and secured one of the few remaining berths for their next sailing, which was in three days. He telephoned an ecstatic cable to Adolph.
The whole effect was seductive, but so crisp as to escape vulgarity. "I must paint you, Miss Berber," was Stefan's comment. "All the artists say that." She waved a faint expostulation. Her hands, he thought, had the whiteness and consistency of a camelia. "All the artists are not I, however," he answered with a smiling shrug.
She hastened, however, to write the final chapters, and deposited the check when it came in her own bank, drawing the next month's housekeeping money half from that and half from Stefan's rapidly dwindling account. That she was able to do this gave her a feeling of relief, no more.
Finally, chilled as she was to the very marrow of her bones, she consented to accept his offer and submitted to his helping her on with the coat. "There's a good fire in the shack just now," he told her. "It's absolutely necessary for you to get thoroughly warmed up before you start off again. A cup of hot tea would do you a lot of good, too, after that long ride on Stefan's toboggan.
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