me."

For a flashing second his eyes answered that appeal with a look that
thrilled and daunted her. "To keep from being something else that I've
no right to be," he muttered.

"How many more sittings do you think it will take to finish the
picture?" she asked, striving to get on safer ground.

"Only one or two, I suppose," he answered morosely.

Such was Julien's condition of mind after the last sitting that he
actually left the precious portrait unguarded by neglecting to lock the
door of the studio on going out, and the Bonnie Lassie and I, happening
in, beheld it in its fulfillment. A slow flush burned its way upward in
the Bonnie Lassie's face as she studied it.

"He's done it!" she exclaimed. "Flower and flame! Why did I ever take to
sculpture? One can't get that in the metal."

"He's done it," I echoed.

"Of course, technically, it's rather a sloppy picture."

"It's a glorious picture!" I cried.

"Naturally that," returned the exasperating critic. "It always will
be--when you paint with your heart's blood."

"Do you think your friend Bobbie appreciates the medium in which she's