The artist, seizing the opportunity with the cunning of desperation, turned to Mrs.Taine, with some inane remark about the summers in California.
Whatever it was that he said, Mrs.Taine agreed with him, heartily, adding, "And you, I suppose, have been making good use of your time?
Or have you been simply storing up material and energy for this winter ?" This brought Louise out of the depths of that sunset, with a flop.

She was so sure that Mr.King had some inexpressibly wonderful work to show them.
Couldn't they go at once to the equally inexpressibly beautiful studio, to see the inexpressibly lovely pictures that she was so inexpressibly sure he had been painting in the inexpressibly grand and beautiful and wonderfully lovely mountains?
The painter assured them that he had no work for them to see; and Louise floundered again into the depths of inexpressible disappointment and despair.
Nevertheless, a few minutes later, Aaron King found himself in his studio, alone with Mrs.Taine.He could not have told exactly how she managed it, or why.

Perhaps, in sheer pity, she had rescued him from the floods of Louise's appreciation.

Perhaps--she had some other reasons.
There had been something said about her right to see her own picture, and then--there they were--with the others safely barred from intruding upon the premises sacred to art.
When there was no longer need to fear the eyes of the world, Mrs.Taine was at no pains to hide the warmth of her feeling.

With little reserve, she confessed herself in every look and tone and movement.
"Are you really glad to see me, I wonder," she said invitingly.