You bad little thing! Don't you know enough to stop when you're tired?"
"I—didn't know I was so utterly gone," she said, bewildered.
He passed his arm around her and supported her to the sofa where she sat, demure, a little surprised at her collapse, yet shyly enjoying his disconcerted attentions to her.
"It's your fault, Kelly. You had such a queer expression—not at all like you—that I tried harder than ever to help you—and fell down for my pains."
"You're an angel," he said, contritely, "but a silly one."
"A scared one, Kelly—and a fallen one." She laughed, flexing the muscles of her benumbed leg: "Your expression intimidated me. I didn't recognise you; I could not form any opinion of what was going on inside that very stern and frowning head of yours. If you look like that I'll never dare call you Kelly."
"Did I seem inhuman?"
"N-no. On the contrary—very human—ordinary—like the usual ill-tempered artist man, with whom I have learned how to deal. You know," she added, teasingly, "that you are calm and god-like, usually—and when you suddenly became a mere mortal—"
"I'll tell you what I'll do with you," he said; "I'll pick you up and put you to bed."
"I wish you would, Kelly. I haven't had half enough sleep."
He sat down beside her on the sofa: "Don't talk any more of that god-like business," he growled, "or I'll find the proper punishment."
"Would you punish me, Kelly?"
"I sure would."
"If I displeased you?"
"You bet."
"Really?" She turned partly toward him, half in earnest. "Suppose—suppose—" but she stopped suddenly, with a light little laugh that lingered pleasantly in the vast, still room.
She said: "I begin to think that there are two Kellys—no, one Kelly and one Louis. Kelly is familiar to me; I seem to have known him all my life—the happy part of my life. Louis I have just seen for the first time—there at the easel, painting, peering from me to his canvas with Kelly's good-looking eyes all narrow with worry—"
"What on earth are you chattering about, Valerie?"
"You and Kelly…. I don't quite know which I like best—the dear, sweet, kind, clever, brilliant, impersonal, god-like Kelly, or this new Louis—so very abrupt in speaking to me—"
"Valerie, dear! Forgive me. I'm out of sorts somehow. It began—I don't know—waiting for you—wondering if you could be ill—all alone. Then that ass, Sam Ogilvy—oh, it's just oversmoking I guess, or—I don't know what."
She sat regarding him, head tipped unconsciously on one side in an attitude suggesting a mind concocting malice.
"Louis?"
"What?"
"You're very attractive when you're god-like—"
"You little wretch!"
"But—you're positively dangerous when you're human."
"Valerie! I'll—"
"The great god Kelly, or the fascinating, fearsome, erring Louis! Which is it to be? I've an idea that the time is come to decide!"
Fairly radiating a charming aura of malice she sat back, nursing one knee, distractingly pretty and defiant, saying: "I will call you a god if I like!"
"I'll tell you what, Valerie," he said, half in earnest; "I've played grandmother to you long enough, by Heck!"
"Oh, Kelly, be lofty and Olympian! Be a god and shame the rest of us!"
"I'll shamefully resemble one of 'em in another moment if you continue tormenting me!"
"Which one, great one?"
"Jupiter, little lady. He was the boss philanderer you know."
"What is a philanderer, my Olympian friend?"
"Oh, one of those Olympian divinities who always began the day by kissing the girls all around."
"Before breakfast?"
"Certainly."
"It's—after breakfast, Kelly."
"Luncheon and dinner still impend."
"Besides—I'm not a bit lonely to-day…. I'm afraid I wouldn't let you, Kel—I mean Louis."
"Why didn't you say 'Kelly'?"
"Kelly is too god-like to kiss."
"Oh! So that's the difference! Kelly isn't human; Louis is."
"Kelly, to me," she admitted, "is practically kissless…. I haven't thought about Louis in that regard."
"Consider the matter thoroughly."
"Do you wish me to?" She bent her head, smiling. Then, looking up with enchanting audacity:
"I really don't know, Mr. Neville. Some day when I'm lonely—and if Louis is at home and Kelly is out—you and I might spend an evening together on a moonlit lake and see how much of a human being Louis can be."
She laughed, watching him under the dark lashes, charming mouth mocking him in every curve.
"Do you think you're likely to be lonely to-night?" he asked, surprised at the slight acceleration of his pulses.
"No, I don't. Besides, you'd be only the great god Kelly to me this evening. Besides that I'm going to dinner with Querida, and afterward we're going to see the 'Joy of the Town' at the Folly Theatre."
"I didn't know," he said, curtly. For a few moments he sat there, looking interestedly at a familiar door-knob. Then rising: "Do you feel all right for posing?"
"Yes."
"Alors—"
"Allons, mon dieu!" she laughed.
Work began. She thought, watching him with sudden and unexpected shyness, that he seemed even more aloof, more preoccupied, more worried, more intent than before. In this new phase the man she had known as a friend was now entirely gone, vanished! Here stood an utter stranger, very human, very determined, very deeply perplexed, very much in earnest. Everything about this man was unknown to her. There seemed to be nothing about him that particularly appealed to her confidence, either; yet the very uncertainty was interesting her now—intensely.
This other phase of his dual personality had been so completely a surprise that, captivated, curious, she could keep neither her gaze from him nor her thoughts. Was it that she was going to miss in him the other charm, lose the delight in his speech, his impersonal and kindly manner, miss the comfortable security she had enjoyed with him, perhaps after some half gay, half sentimental conflict with lesser men?
What was she to expect from this brand-new incarnation of Louis Neville? The delightful indifference, fascinating absent-mindedness and personal neglect of the other phase?
