It was Telford. Hagar wished for the slightest pretext to go up the unfrequented side path and speak to him, but his mind was too excited to do the thing naturally without a stout pretext. Besides, though he admired the man's proportions and his uses from an artistic standpoint, he did not like him personally, and he said that he never could. He had instinctive likes and dislikes. What had startled him at the pump-room and had made him come to the gardens was the conviction that this was the man to play the part in the scene which, described by Mrs. Detlor, had been arranging itself in a hundred ways in his brain during the night--the central figures always the same, the details, light, tone, coloring, expression, fusing, resolving. Then came another and still more significant thought.

On this he had acted.

When he had got rid of Richmond, who begged that he would teach him how to arrange a tie as he did--for which an hour was appointed--he determined, at all hazards, to speak. He had a cigar in his pocket, and though to smoke in the morning was pain and grief to him, he determined to ask for a match, and started. He was stopped by Baron, whose thoughts being much with the little vices of man, antic.i.p.ated his wishes and offered him a light. In despair Hagar took it, and asked if he chanced to know who the stranger was. Baron did know, a.s.suring Hagar that he sat on the gentleman's right at the same table in his hotel, and was qualified to introduce him. Before they started he told the artist of the occurrence of the evening before, and further a.s.sured him of the graces of Miss Mildred Margrave. "A pearl," he said, "not to be reckoned by loads of ivory, nor jolly bricks of gold, nor caravans of Arab steeds, nor--come and have dinner with me to-night, and you shall see. There, what do you say?"

Hagar, who loved the man's unique and spontaneous character as only an artist can love a subject in which he sees royal possibilities, consented gladly, and dropped a cordial hand on the other's shoulder. The hand was dragged down and wrenched back and forth with a st.u.r.dy clasp, in time to a roll of round, unctuous laughter. Then Baron took him up hurriedly, and introduced him to Telford with the words: "You two ought to know each other. Telford, traveler, officer of the Hudson's Bay company, et cetera; Hagar, artist, good fellow, et cetera."

Then he drew back and smiled as the two men, not shaking hands as he expected, bowed, and said they were happy to meet. The talk began with the remark by Hagar on the panorama below them, "that the thing was amusing if not seen too often, but the eternal paddling round the band stand was too much like marionettes."

"You prefer a Punch and Judy to marionettes?" asked Telford.

"Yes, you get a human element in a Punch and Judy tragedy. Besides, it has surprises, according to the idiosyncrasy of the man in the greenroom."

He smiled immediately, remembering that his last words plagiarized Mr.

Alpheus Richmond.

"I never miss a Punch and Judy if I'm near it," said Telford. "I enjoy the sardonic humor with which Punch hustles off his victims. His light-heartedness when doing b.l.o.o.d.y deeds is the true temper."

"That is, if it must be done, to do it with a grin is--"

"Is the most absolute tragedy."

Hagar was astonished, for even the trader's information that Telford spoke excellent French, and had certainly been a deal on red carpet in his time, did not prepare him for the sharply incisive words just uttered. Yet it was not incongruous with. Telford's appearance--not even with the red sash peeping at the edge of his waistcoat.

They came down among the promenaders, and Baron being accosted by some one, he left the two together, exacting anew the promise from Hagar regarding dinner.

Presently Hagar looked up, and said abruptly, "You were singing outside my window last night."

Telford's face was turned away from him when he began. It came slowly toward him. The eyes closed steadily with his, there was no excitement, only cold alertness.

"Indeed? What was I singing?"

"For one thing, the chant of the negro woodcutters of Louisiana."

"What part of Louisiana?"

"The county of Tellavie chiefly."

Telford drew a long breath, as though some suspense was over, and then said, "How did you know it was I?"

"I could scarcely tell you. I got the impression--besides, you are the only man I've seen in Herridon who looks likely to know it and the song which you prompted."

"Do I look like a southerner--still? You see I've been in an arctic country five years."

"It is not quite that. I confess I cannot explain it."

"I hope you did not think the thing too boorish to be pardoned. On the face of it it was rude to you--and the lady also."

"The circ.u.mstance--the coincidence--was so unusual that I did not stop to think of manners."

"The coincidence--what coincidence?" said Telford, watching intently.

But Hagar had himself well in hand. He showed nothing of his suspicions.

"That you should be there listening, and that the song should be one which no two people, meeting casually, were likely to know."

"We did not meet," said Telford dryly.

They watched the crowd for a minute. Presently he added, "May I ask the name of the lady who was singing?"

There was a slight pause, then, "Certainly--Mrs. Fairfax Detlor."

Though Telford did not stir a muscle the bronze of his face went grayish, and he looked straight before him without speaking. At last he said in a clear, steady voice, "I knew her once, I think."

"I guessed so."

"Indeed? May I ask if Mrs. Detlor recognized my voice?"

"That I do not know, but the chances are she did not; if you failed to recognize hers."

There was an almost malicious desire on Hagar's part to play upon this man--this scoundrel, as he believed him to be--and make him wince still more. A score of things to say or do flashed through his mind, but he gave them up instantly, remembering that it was his duty to consider Mrs.

Detlor before all. But he did say, "If you were old friends, you will wish to meet her, of course."

"Yes. I have not seen her in many years. Where is she staying?"

"At the Tempe hotel. I do not know whether you intend to call, but I would suggest your not doing so to-day--that is, if you wish to see her and not merely leave your card--because she has an engagement this morning, and this afternoon she is going on an excursion."

"Thank you for the generous information." There was cool irony in the tone. "You are tolerably well posted as to Mrs. Detlor's movements."

"Oh, yes," was the equally cool reply. "In this case I happen to know, because Mrs. Detlor sits for a picture at my studio this morning, and I am one of the party for the excursion."

"Just so. Then will you please say nothing to Mrs. Detlor about having met me? I should prefer surprising her."

"I'm afraid I can make no promise. The reason is not sufficient.

Surprises, as you remarked about Punch and Judy, are amusing, but they may also be tragical."

Telford flashed a dark, inquiring look at his companion, and then said: "Excuse me, I did not say that, though it was said. However, it is no matter. We meet at dinner, I I suppose, this evening. Till then!"

He raised his hat with a slight sweeping motion--a little mocking excess in the courtesy--and walked away.

As he went Hagar said after him between his teeth, "By Heaven, you are that man!"

These two hated each other at this moment, and they were men of might after their kind. The hatred of the better man was the greater. Not from a sense of personal wrong, but--

Three hours later Hagar was hard at work in his studio. Only those who knew him intimately could understand him in his present mood. His pale, brooding, yet masculine face was flushed, the blue of his eyes was almost black, his hair, usually in a Roman regularity about his strong brow, was disorderly. He did not know the pa.s.sage of time. He had had no breakfast.

He had read none of his letters--they lay in a little heap on his mantelpiece--he was sketching upon the canvas the scene which had possessed him for the past ten or eleven hours. An idea was being born, and it was giving him the distress of bringing forth. Paper after paper he had thrown away, but at last he had shaped the idea to please his severe critical instinct, and was now sketching in the expression of the girl's face. His brain was hot, his face looked tired, but his hand was steady, accurate and cool--a shapely hand which the sun never browned, and he was a man who loved the sun.

He drew back at last. "Yes, that's it," he said. "It's right, right. His face shall come in later. But the heart of the thing is there."

The last sentence was spoken in a louder tone, so that some one behind him heard. It was Mrs. Detlor. She had, with the young girl who had sat at her feet the evening before, been shown into the outer room, had playfully parted the curtains between the rooms and entered. She stood for a moment looking at the sketch, fascinated, thrilled. Her yes filled with tears, then went dry and hot, as she said in a loud whisper, "Yes, the heart of the thing is there."