servant answered. "I suppose he won't be back soon, as he took a grip with him."
In sudden temper Robert cried: "You don't mean it, has he gone home?"
"I don't know, sir, he went towards the station about a half hour before the New York train was due."
"That will do, leave us," he ordered the maid.
"Now, Cherokee, tell me why Marrion has left me?"
"Mr. Latham may prefer to make his own excuse," she answered, quietly.
"Never mind that assumed dignity; I know the reason as well as you could tell me. This letter I found on the studio floor gives the villain away," and thrusting it at her, he demanded: "Read it aloud."
She nervously unfolded it and read:
"My Dear Latham:
I presume you know I too was painting the 'Athlete.' My model is a failure, a disappointment. Come to New York at once, and pose for me at your own price.
Yours, anxiously,
Willard Frost."
