g, was a shade less hopeful. Of course Caspar was going to
succeed--she knew it was only a question of time--but she paled at the
word and turned imploring eyes on Stanwell. _Was there time enough?_ It
was the one element in the combination that she could not count on; and
Stanwell, reddening under her look of interrogation, and cursing his
own glaring robustness, would affirm that of course, of course, of
course, by everything that was holy there was time enough--with the
mental reservation that there wouldn't be, even if poor Caspar lived to
be a hundred.

"Vos that you yelling for the shanitor, Mr. Sdanwell?" inquired an
affable voice through the doorway; and Stanwell, turning with a laugh,
confronted the squat figure of a middle-aged man in an expensive fur
coat, who looked as if his face secreted the oil which he used on his
hair.

"Hullo, Shepson--I should say I was yelling. Did you ever feel such an
atmosphere? That fool has forgotten to light the stove. Come in, but
for heaven's sake don't take off your coat."

Mr. Shepson glanced about the studio with a look which seemed to say
that, where so much else was lacking, the absence of a fire hardly
added to the general sense of destitution.

"Vell, you ain't as vell fixed as Mr. Mungold--ever been to his studio,
Mr. Sdanwell? De most ex_quis_ite blush hangings, and a gas-fire,
choost as natural--"

"Oh, hang it, Shepson, do you call _that_ a studio? It's like a
manicure's parlour--or a beauty-doctor's. By George," broke off
Stanwell, "and that's just what he is!"

"A peauty-doctor?"

"Yes--oh, well, you wouldn't see," murmured Stanwell, mentally storing
his epigram for more appreciative ears. "But you didn't come just to
make me envious of Mungold's studio, did you?" And he pushed forward a
chair for his visitor.

The latter, however, declined it with an affable motion. "Of gourse
not, of gourse not--but Mr. Mungold is a sensible man. He makes a lot
of money, you know."

"Is that what you came to tell me?" said Stanwell, still humorously.

"My gootness, no--I was downstairs looking at Holbrook's sdained class,
and I shoost thought I'd sdep up a minute and take a beep at your vork."

"Much obliged, I'm sure--especially as I assume that you don't want any
of it." Try as he would, Stanwell could not keep a note of eagerness
from his voice. Mr. Shepson caught the note, and eyed him shrewdly
through gold-rimmed glasses.

"Vell, vell, vell--I'm not prepare