were Kitty's brother and the Miss Bryant of whom everyone speaks as
"Cadge"--Helen's beauty had so blossomed that at fresh sight of her they
struggled with incredulous amazement almost as a stranger might have done.

Talking rapidly to mask embarrassment, they joined us round the fire, Reid
dropped a slouch hat and an overcoat that seemed all pockets bulging with
papers, while Miss Bryant and Kitty began a rapid fire of talk about
"copy," "cuts," "the black," "the colour" and other mysteries.

"Wish you could have got me a proof of the animal page," said Kitty
finally; "if they hurry the etching again, before my poor dear little
bears have been half an hour on the presses, they'll fill with ink and
print gray. I'll--I'll leave money in my will to prosecute photo-
engravers."

"Oh, don't fret," said Miss Bryant. "Magazine'll look well this week. Big
Tom's the greatest Sunday editor that ever happened; and I've got in some
good stuff, too."

"Of course your obbligato'll be all right," Kitty sighed; "but--oh, those
etchers and----Yes, Big Tom'll do; I never see him fretting the Art
Department, like the editor before last, to sketch a one-column earthquake
curdling a cup of cream."

"How _could_ anybody do that?" cried Helen.

"Just what the artist said."

Miss Bryant looked slightly older than Helen; in spite of her brusque,
careless sentences, I suspected that she was a girl of some knowledge,