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She had her reward in Doris' dazzling smile, and her assurances that she would do all she could to make Elinor's vindication speedy and thorough. "Well, no, major. On second thought I do not think it is wise to couple those two words as yet. The thief may not be the murderer, and--but what can I say?" broke off Etwald, suddenly. "As yet we know nothing. It is late, now, major, and I must get back. Shall I give information to the police?" "You can't try it, of course," said Patricia. "But I'm dead certain it'll be all right. What is the matter?" she asked, looking up as the door of the life room opened and the men began to come out carrying their canvases and drawing-boards as though the pose were over. "It can't be four o'clock, surely. Ju hasn't been gone a half hour.".

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They paused a moment on the corner for a look at the twilit streets with their white pulsing points of electric lamps flickering above the hurrying crowds, while behind the sky line, with its towers and minarets and huge squares of office buildings, the clear topaz of the winter sunset surged upward in the dimming turquoise sky. He wrote from Rome this time, where he had been sent on some sort of diplomatic mission to the Vatican, and his letter about the Ancient City on her seven hills was a prose-poem in itself. I was so interested that I read on and on and forgot it was almost toast-apple time. Her eyes swept one wall and then the other, searching for the familiar canvas, but all in vain, until she lifted them to the screen which stood in the center of the room, and where three canvases were hung, Elinor's below the other two. "Well, yes, so far as my memory serves me, I think she was.".