It was crowded, and as you waited at the crossing you spoke to Jack Mellot, and while talking pulled off your hat and tumbled your hair about, in your usual fashion, when very earnest. We were blockaded by cars and coaches for a moment, so Miss Eure had a fine opportunity to feast her eyes upon you, ‘though you are not pretty, by the way.’ She asked your name, and when I told her she gushed out into a charming little stream of interest in your daubs, and her delight at seeing their creator; all of which was not agreeable to me, for I considered myself much the finer work of art of the two. Just then you caught up a shabby child with a big basket, took them across, under our horses’ noses, with never a word for me, though I called to you, and, diving into the crowd, disappeared. ‘I like that,’ said Miss Eure; and as we drove on she asked questions, which I answered in a truly Christian manner, doing you no harm, old lad; for I told all you had fought through, with the courage of a stout-hearted man, all you had borne with the patience of a woman, and what a grand future lay open to you, if you chose to accept and use it, making quite a fascinating little romance of it, I assure you. There the matter dropped. I forgot it till this minute, but it accounts for the ease with which you gained your first suit, and is prophetic of like success in a second and more serious one. She is young, well-born, lovely to those who love her, and has a fortune and position which will lift you at once to the topmost round of the long ladder you’ve been climbing all these years. I wish you joy, Max.”

            “Thank you. I’ve no time for lovemaking, and want no fortune but that which I earn for myself. I am alreadv married to a fairer wife than Miss Eure, so you may win and wear the lofty lady yourself.”

            Louis gave a comical groan.

            “I’ve tried that, and failed; for she is too cold to be warmed by any flame of mine, though she is wonderfully attractive when she likes, and I hover about her even now like an infatuated moth, who beats his head against the glass and never reaches the light within. No; you must thankfully accept the good the gods bestow. Let Art be your Leah, but Agatha your Rachel. And so, good-night!” “Stay and tell me one thing — is she an orphan?”

            “Yes; the last of a fine old race, with few relatives and few friends, for death has deprived her of the first, and her own choice of the last. The ladv you saw with her plays propriety in her establishment; the lad is Mrs. Snow’s son, and fills the role of cavaJiere- servente; for Miss Eure is a Diana toward men in general, and leads a quietly luxurious life among her books, pencils and music, reading and studying all manner of things few women of two-and- twenty care to know. But she has the wit to see that a woman’s mission is to be charming, and when she has sufficient motive for the exertion she fulfils that mission most successfully, as I know to my sorrow. Now let me off, and be for ever grateful for the good turn I have done you to-night, both in urging you to go to the theatre and helping vou to your wish when you got there.”

            We parted merrily, but his words lingered in my memory, and half unconsciously exerted a new influence over me, for they flattered the three ruling passions that make or mar the fortunes of us all — pride, ambition and self-love. I wanted power, fame and ease, and all seemed waiting for me, not in the dim future but the actual present, if my friend’s belief was to be relied upon; and remembering all I had seen and heard that night, I felt that it was not utterly without foundation. I pleased myself for an idle hour in dreaming dreams of what might be; finding that amusement began to grow dangerously attractive, I demolished my castles in the air with the last whiff of my meerschaum, and fell asleep, echoing my own words:

 

            “Art is my wife, I will have no other!”

 

            Punctual to the moment I went to my appointment, and while waiting an answer to my ring took an exterior survey of Miss Eure’s house. One of an imposing granite block, it stood in a West End square, with every sign of unostentatious opulence about it. I was very susceptible to all influences, either painful or pleasant, and as I stood there the bland atmosphere that surrounded me seemed most attractive; for my solitary life had been plain and poor, with little time for ease, and few ornaments to give it grace. Now I seemed to have won the right to enjoy both if 1 would; I no longer felt out of place there, and with this feeling came the wish to try the sunny side of life, and see if its genial gifts would prove more inspiring than the sterner masters I had been serving so long.

            The door opened in the middle of my reverie, and I was led through an anteroom, lined with warmhued pictures, to a large apartment, which had been converted into an impromptu studio by some one who understood all the requisites for such a place. The picture, my easel and other necessaries had preceded me, and I thought to have spent a good hour in arranging matters. All was done, however, with a skill that surprised me; the shaded windows, the carefully-arranged brushes, the proper colors already on the palette, the easel and picture placed as they should be, and a deep curtain hung behind a small dais, where I fancied my model was to sit. The room was empty as I entered, and with the brief message, “Miss Eure will be down directly,” the man noiselessly departed.

            I stood and looked about me with great satisfaction, thinking, “I cannot fail to work well surrounded by such agreeable sights and sounds.” The house was very still, for the turmoil of the city was subdued to a murmur, like the far-off music of the sea; a soft gloom filled the room, divided by one strong ray that fell athwart my picture, gifting it with warmth and light. Through a half-open door I saw the green vista of a conservatory, full of fine blendings of color, and wafts of many odors blown to me by the west wind rustling through orange trees and slender palms; while the only sound that broke the silence was the voice of a flame-colored foreign bird, singing a plaintive little strain like a sorrowful lament. I liked this scene, and, standing in the doorway, was content to look, listen and enjoy, forgetful of time, till a slight stir made me turn and for a moment look straight before me w ith a startled aspect. It seemed as if my picture had left its frame; for, standing on the narrow dais, clearly defined against the dark background, stood the living likeness of the figure I had painted, the same white folds falling from neck to ankle, the same shadowy hair, and slender hands locked together, as if wrung in slow despair; and fixed full upon my own the weird, unseeing eyes, w hich made the face a pale mask, through which the haunted spirit spoke eloquently, with its sleepless anguish and remorse.

            “Good morning, Miss Eure; how shall I thank you?” I began, but stopped abruptly, for without speaking she waved me towards the easel w ith a gesture which seemed to say, “Prove your gratitude by industry.”

            “Very good,” thought I, “if she likes the theatrical style she shall have it. It is evident she has studied her part and will play it well, 1 will do the same, and as Louis recommends, take the good the gods send me w hile I may.”

            Without more ado I took my place and tell to work; but, though never more eager to get on, with each moment that I passed I found my interest in the picture grow less and less intent, and with every glance at my model found that it w as more and more difficult to look away. Beautiful she was not, but the wild and woful figure seemed to attract me as no Hebe, Venus or sw eet-laced Psyche had ever done.