photograph on the wall.

"Carpeaux has nothing on this young lady," insisted Quair
flippantly; and he pivoted on his heel and sat down beside the
model. Once or twice the two others, consulting before the wax
group, heard the girl's light, untroubled laughter behind their
backs gaily responsive to Quair's wit. Perhaps Quair's inheritance
had been humor, but to some it seemed perilously akin to mother-wit.

The pockets of Guilder's loose, ill-fitting clothes bulged with
linen tracings and rolls of blue-prints. He and Drene consulted over
these for a while, semi-conscious of Quair's bantering voice and the
girl's easily provoked laughter behind them. And, finally:

"All right, Guilder," said Drene briefly. And the firm of
celebrated architects prepared to evacuate the studio--Quair
exhibiting symptoms of incipient skylarking, in which he was said to
be at his best.

"Drop in on me at the office some time," he suggested to the
youthful model, in a gracious tone born of absolute
self-satisfaction.

"For luncheon or dinner?" retorted the girl, with smiling audacity.

"You may stay to breakfast also--"

"Oh, come on," drawled Guilder, taking his colleague's elbow.

The sculptor yawned as Quair went out: then he closed the door then