"I shall not explain what I mean," she said with heightened color, and
rose from her chair. "As there are no more green mice to peep out at me
from behind my easel," she added, "I can have no excuse from abandoning
art any longer. Can I?"

The trailing sweetness of the inquiry was scarcely a challenge, yet he
dared take it up.

"You asked me," he said, "whether you could do anything for me."

"Can I?" she exclaimed.

"Yes."

"I will--I am glad--tell me what to do?"

"Why, it's only this. I've got to go before an audience of two hundred
people and do things. I've had practice here by myself, but--but if you
don't mind I should like to try it before somebody--you. Do you mind?"

She stood there, slim, blue-eyed, reflecting; then innocently: "If I've
compromised myself the damage was done long ago, wasn't it? They're going
to take away my studio anyhow, so I might as well have as much pleasure
as I can."

And she sat down, gracefully, linking her white fingers over her knees.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]