buy some of the great Vogel's pictures. You will see."

"But has the Mees any rich friends?" asked her crony the Frau Doctorin.

And then the parson's widow laughed in a worldly way.

"So pretty a girl," she said, "so fine a complexion, such little feet! And
those winning ways!"

From which it will be seen that the Frau Pastorin could admire and
appreciate a woman who was young and beautiful. So could the painters; but
that is easier to believe. And so could the tight-booted lieutenants; but
that is perfectly understood. When Kitty Waring crossed the Hof Garten,
even that old woman who years and years ago sold little Heinrich Heine
plums would point out the girl to her contemporary the venerable
under-gardener.

"_HÃ¥bsch_" the old woman would growl.

"_Aber leichtsinnig--leichtsinnig_," the old man would add,--for he was a
misogynist.

But Kitty was not quite _leichtsinnig_, although she did stroll through
the garden sometimes with Fritz Goebel, sometimes with Otho Weiss,
sometimes with her fellow-countryman Joe Buckley. They were all young, all
painters, all poor. Who cared what they did? What if they sat on a beach
under a linden-tree and played cat's-cradle like children? What if they
made little excursions to Zons or to Xanten? What if there was a supper in
Joe Buckley's studio, and Kitty Waring and Anna van der Meer--a sedate
creature from Rotterdam was she--were taught how to make a true, good