her soul, and, with pleasant smiles and engaging courtesies, he had
answered all her coquetries. But the difficulty of conquest only
whetted her appetite for victory, and she might even have pursued her
quest with ridiculous attentions if accident had not made known to her
the fact that M. Daveau was not only the lover of another lady in the
studio, but that he loved her to the perfect exclusion of every other
woman. Mildred's face darkened between the eyes, a black little cloud
of hatred appeared and settled there. She invented strange stories
about M. Daveau; and it surprised her that M. Daveau took no notice of
her calumnies. She desired above all things to annoy the large
mysterious Southerner who had resisted her attractions, who had
preferred another, and who now seemed indifferent to anything she
might say about him. But M. Daveau was only biding his time; and when
Mildred came to renew her subscription to the studio, he told her that
he was very sorry, but that he could not accept her any longer as a
pupil. Mildred asked for a reason. M. Daveau smiled sweetly,
enigmatically, and answered, that he wished to reduce the number of
ladies in his studio. There were too many.

Expulsion from the studio made shipwreck of her life in Paris. There
was no room in the flat in which she could paint. She had spent all
her money, and could not afford to hire a studio. She took lessons in
French and music, and began a novel, and when she wearied of her novel
she joined another studio, a ladies' class. But Mildred did not like
women; the admiration of men was the breath of her nostrils. With a
difference, men were her life as much as they were Elsie's. She pined
in this new studio; it grew hateful to her, and she spoke of returning
to England.

But Miss Brand said that one of these days she would meet M. Daveau;