eyes, and then
with a smile hovering about her pretty lips.

"You said nothing of the sort," she answered, "for you knew nothing
about this studio at that time, so you see I am not going to emulate
your dishonesty by pretending not to know you are referring to me."

"My dishonesty!" exclaimed the young man, with protest in his voice. "I
am the most honest, straightforward person alive, and I believe I would
take your two thousand a year offer if I didn't think I could do
better."

"Where, in South Africa?"

"No, in South Kensington. I think that when the lady learns how useful
I could be around a studio--oh, I could learn to wash brushes, sweep
out the room, prepare canvases, light the fire; and how nicely I could
hand around cups of tea when she had her 'At Homes,' and exhibited her
pictures! When she realises this, and sees what a bargain she is
getting, I feel almost certain she will not make any terms at all."

The young man sprang from the table, and the girl rose from her chair,
a look almost of alarm in her face. He caught her by the arms.

"What do you think, Miss Linderham? You know the lady. Don't you think
she would refuse to have anything to do with a cad like Billy Heckle,
rich as he is, and would prefer a humble, hard-working farmer from the
Cape?"

The girl did not answer his question.

"Are you going to break my arms as you threatened to do his wrists last
night?"

"Maggie," he whispered, in a low voice, with an intense ring in it, "I
am going to break nothing but my own heart if you refuse me."

The girl looked up at him with a smile.

"I knew when you came in you weren't going to South Africa, Dick," was
all she said; and he, taking advantage of her helplessness, kissed her.

PURIFICATION.

Eugene Caspilier sat at one of the metal tables of the Cafe Egalite,
allowing the water from the carafe to filter slowly through a lump of
sugar and a perforated spoon into his glass of absinthe. It was not an
expression of discontent that was to be seen on the face of Caspilier,
but rather a fleeting shade of unhappiness which showed he was a man to
whom the world was being unkind. On the opposite side of the little
round table sat his friend and sympathising companion, Henri Lacour. He
sipped his absinthe slowly, as absinthe should be sipped, and it was
evident that he was deeply concerned with the problem that confronted
his comrade.

"Why, in Heaven's name, did you marry her? That, sure