And he had tried it and failed; and had drawn aside, fiercely, still watching and determined.
Some day he meant to marry properly.

He had never doubted his ability to do so even in the sordid days.

But there was no hurry, and life was young, and so was Valerie West--young enough, beautiful enough to bridge the years with him until his ultimate destiny awaited him.
And all was going well again with him until that New-year's night; and matters had gone ill with him since then--so ill that he could not put the thought of it from him, and her beauty haunted him--and the expression of Neville's eyes!-- But he remained silent, quiet, alert, watching and waiting with all his capacity for enduring.

And he had now something else to watch--something that his sensitive intuition had divined in a single unfinished canvas of Neville's.
So far there had been but one man supreme in the new world as a great painter of sunlight and of women.

There could not be two.