Of course, a lady's photograph." The reply irritated Demorest.

More than that, he felt a sudden sense of the absolute sentimentality of his request, and the consciousness that he was about to invite the familiar confidence of this strange woman--whose son had forged his name--in regard to HER! "It was a Venetian picture," he began, and stopped, a singular disgust keeping him from voicing the name.
But Mrs.Van Loo was less reticent.

"Oh, you mean my dearest friend--a lovely picture, and you know her?
Why, yes, surely.

You are THE Mr.
Demorest who--Of course, that old love-affair.

Well, you are a marvel! Five years ago, at least, and you have not forgotten! I really must write and tell her." "Write and tell her!" Then it was all a lie about her death! He felt not only his faith, his hope, his future leaving him, but even his self-control.