p in my correspondence. The
Telegraph Trail was a million miles away, New York and its publishers
claimed my full attention once again.

* * * * *

At two o'clock next day I entered Taft's studio, where I received many
cordial congratulations on my return. "I can't understand why you went,"
Lorado said, and when, at the close of the afternoon, Browne, his
brother-in-law, invited me to dinner, saying, "You'll find Miss Zulime
Taft there," I accepted. Although in some doubt about Miss Taft's desire
to meet me, I was curious to know what four years of Paris had done for
her.

Browne explained that she was going to take up some sort of work in
Chicago. "She's had enough of the Old World for the present."

As he let us into the hall of his West Side apartment, I caught a
momentary glimpse of a young woman seated in the living room, busily
sewing. She rose calmly, though a little surprised at our invasion, and
with her rising, spools of thread and bits of cloth fell away from her
with comic effect, although her expression remained loftily serene.

"Hello, sister Zuhl," called Browne. "Here is an old-time friend of
yours."

As she greeted me with entire self-possession I hardly recognized her
relationship to the pale, self-possessed art-student, with whom I had
held unprofitable argument some four years before. She was much more
mature and in better health than when I last saw her. She carried
herself with dignity, and her gown, graceful of line and rich in color,
fitted her beautifully.

With no allusion to our former differences she was kind enough to say
that she had been a delighted reader of my stories in the magazines, and
that she approved of America. "I've come back to stay," she said, and we
all applauded her statement.

As the evening deepened I perceived that her long stay in England and in
France had done a great deal for Zulime Taft. She was not only well
informed in art matters, she conversed easily and tactfully, and her
accent was refined without being affected. As we settled into our seats
around the dinner table, I was glad to find her opposite me.

She had met many interesting and distinguished people, both in London
and on the Continent, and she brought to our little circle that night
the latest word in French art. Indeed, her comment was so entertaining,
and so valuable, that I was quite converted to her brother's judgment
concerning her term of exile: "Whether you