sketch-books. What would
you say if your Popper came over here, and began to examine every lady's
dress in society to see what material it was, just because he was a big
dry-goods dealer in America?"

The young girl, accustomed to her aunt's extravagances, made no reply.
But that night she consulted her sketch, and was so far convinced of her
own instincts, and the profound impression the fountain had made upon
her, that she was enabled to secretly finish her interrupted sketch from
memory. For Miss Charlotte Forrest was a born artist, and in no mere
caprice had persuaded her father to let her adopt the profession, and
accepted the drudgery of a novitiate. She looked earnestly upon this
first real work of her hand and found it good! Still, it was but a
pencil sketch, and wanted the vivification of color.

When she returned to Paris she began--still secretly--a larger study in
oils. She worked upon it in her own room every moment she could spare
from her studio practice, unknown to her professor. It absorbed her
existence; she grew thin and pale. When it was finished, and only then,
she showed it tremblingly to her master. He stood silent, in profound
astonishment. The easel before him showed a foreground of tangled
luxuriance, from which stretched a sheet of water like a darkened
mirror, while through parted reeds on its glossy surface arose the
half-submerged figure of a river god, exquisite in contour, yet whose
delicate outlines were almost a vision by the crowning illusion of
light, shadow, and atmosphere.

"It is a beautiful copy, mademoiselle, and I forgive you breaking my
rules," he said, drawing a long breath. "But I cannot now recall the
original picture."

"It's no copy of a picture, professor," said the young girl timidly, and
she disclosed her secret. "It was the only perfect statue there," she
added diffidently; "but I think it wanted--something."

"True," said the professor abstractedly. "Where the elbow rests there
should be a half-inverted urn flowing with water; but the drawing of
that shoulder is so perfect--as is YOUR study of it--that one guesses
the missing forearm one cannot see, which clasped it. Beautiful!
beautiful!"

Suddenly he stopped, and turned his eyes almost searchingly on hers.

"You say you have never drawn from the human model, mademoiselle?"

"Never," said the young girl innocently.

"True," murmured the professor again. "These are the classic ideal
measurements. There are