d lie; the face was made from Mrs. Milburn's picture, and the form—you paid another five hundred dollars to sit for it.
"And pray, who is this individual?" questioned Frost, carelessly.
"Yes, who is she?" cried his companions.
The tumult became so great that an ordinary tone could not be heard at all.
"Who is she? Who is she?"
"Men, have patience, I am in no hurry," said Marrion, as he leveled a revolver at the party.
"Now, Robert, old boy, let the good work go on."
"Bless you, Latham, by your help I will," and he plunged the knife into the canvas.
Frost uttered a tremendous oath, and shouted:
"I'll kill you both for that!"
"Now, to complete the scene we should have the real model here—would that please you?" said Marrion, aggravatingly.
"Yes, produce her if you can."
He walked to the door and opened it; no one spoke; all seemed riveted to the spot.
Who should walk in but Mrs. Milburn's maid, Annie Zerner.
"You bought her, Frost, but she sells you." Then turning to the woman, Marrion asked:
