ince produced a tin of Gold Flake cigarettes.

"And so you're living in the studio?" said George.

"We have the two rooms at the top of the house of course," answered Mr.
Prince, glancing at the staircase. "I don't know whether it's quite the
wisest thing, with all those stairs; you see how we're fixed"--he
glanced at Marguerite--"but we had a fine chance to let the house, and
in these days it's as well to be cautious."

Marguerite smiled happily and patted her husband's hand.

"Of course it's the wisest thing," she said.

"Why! What's the matter with these days?" George demanded. "How's the
work?"

"Oh!" said Mr. Prince, in a new tone. "I've one or two things that might
interest you."

He displayed some prints, and chatted of his labours. He was still
etching; he would die etching. This was the etcher of European renown.
He referred to the Vienna acquisition as though it was an affair of a
few weeks ago. He had disposed of an etching to Stockholm, and mentioned
that he had exhibited at the International Show in Rome. He said that
his things were attracting attention at a gallery in Bond Street. He
displayed catalogues and press-cuttings.

"These are jolly fine," said George enthusiastically, as he examined the
prints on his knee.

"I'm glad you like them," said Mr. Prince, pleased. "I think I've
improved."

But in spite of his European renown, Mr. Prince had remained practically
unknown. His name would not call forth the 'Oh yes!' of recognition from
the earnest frequenter of fashionable exhibitions who takes pride in his
familiarity with names. The etchings of Prince were not subscribed for
in advance. He could not rank with the stars--Cameron, Muirhead Bone,
Legros, Brangwyn. Probably he could command not more than two or three
guineas for a print. He had never been the subject of a profusely
laudatory illustrated article in the _Studio_. With his white hair he
was what in the mart is esteemed a failure. He knew it. Withal he had a
notable self-respect and a notable confidence. There was no timidity in
him, even if his cautiousness was excessive. He possessed sagacity and
he had used it. He knew where he was. He had something substantial up
his sleeve. There was no wistful appeal in his eye, as of a man who
hopes for the best and fears the worst. He could meet dealers with a
firm glance, for throughout life he had subjugated his desires to his
resources. His look was modest but independent; and Marguerite