him, and he felt that there was now almost a challenge in that steady gaze of hers.
"Why not?" he asked, nettled by a sense of remoteness drifting between them.
"Because I know my aunts would not wish it to be seen. It has been kept hidden year after year."
"Why?" repeated Conkling.
She was silent for a moment or two. She was no longer looking at him. But for the second time he became conscious of the achieved air of fortitude in her averted face.
"They would say it was—it was sinful."
She stood silent a moment when he asked for the reason.
"Because it's a nude," she finally said, looking up at him. He had no means of judging what that moment was costing her. He could even afford to smile a little.
"Well," he demanded, "what of that?"
"I've already told you that my aunts do not approve of such things," she said with an appeal in her eyes which he could not understand.
"Do you?" he queried almost bruskly.
