Bertram remembered her face as it had looked all those long summer days while her heart was being slowly broken; and he thought he could see that same look in her eyes now.

All of which only goes to prove with what woeful skill Bertram had fashioned this Thing that was looming before him as The Truth.
The exhibition of "The Bohemian Ten" was to open with a private view on the evening of the twentieth of March.

Bertram Henshaw's one contribution was to be his portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop--the piece of work that had come to mean so much to him; the piece of work upon which already he felt the focus of multitudes of eyes.
Miss Winthrop was in Boston now, and it was during these early March days that Bertram was supposed to be putting in his best work on the portrait; but, unfortunately, it was during these same early March days that he was engaged, also, in fashioning The Thing--and the two did not harmonize.
The Thing, indeed, was a jealous creature, and would brook no rival.
She filled his eyes with horrid visions, and his brain with sickening thoughts.

Between him and his model she flung a veil of fear; and she set his hand to trembling, and his brush to making blunders with the paints on his palette.
Bertram saw The Thing, and saw, too, the grievous result of her presence.

Despairingly he fought against her and her work; but The Thing had become full grown now, and was The Truth.