Some mysterious force that made itself felt in her bold words told him that hers was no idle threat.

A moment they stood face to face, in the edge of the shadowy orange grove--the man of the world, prominent in circles of art and culture; and the woman whose natural loveliness was so distorted into a hideous mask of ugliness.

With a short, derisive laugh, James Rutlidge turned and walked away.
* * * * * Aaron King and Conrad Lagrange were returning from town.

As they neared their home, they saw one of the Taine automobiles in front of the house.
"Company," said the artist with a smile--thinking of his letter to the millionaire.
"It's Rutlidge," said the novelist--noting the absence of the chauffeur.
They were turning in at the entrance, when Czar--who had dashed ahead as if to investigate--halted, suddenly, with a low growl of disapproval.
"Huh!" ejaculated Conrad Lagrange, with his twisted grin.

"It's Senior 'Sensual' all right.