ctive."

"She is quite beautiful," said the girl, watching Thessalie across his
shoulder.

"Yes, she really is. What did you and she talk about?"

"Father," replied Dulcie, determined to have no further commerce with
Thessalie Dunois which involved a secrecy excluding Barres. "She asked
me if he were not my father. Then she asked me a great many stupid
questions about him. And about Miss Kurtz, who takes the desk when
father is out. Also, she asked me about the mail and whether the
postman delivered letters at the desk or in the box outside, and about
the tenants' mail boxes, and who distributed the letters through them.
She seemed interested," added the girl indifferently, "but I thought
it a silly subject for conversation."

Barres, much perplexed, sat gazing at Dulcie in silence for a moment,
then recollecting his duty, he smiled and whispered:

"Stand up, now, Dulcie. You are running this show."

The girl flushed and rose, and the others stood up. Barres took her to
the studio door, then returned to the table with the group of men.

"Well," he exclaimed happily, "what do you fellows think of Soane's
little girl now? Isn't she the sweetest thing you ever heard of?"

"A peach!" said Westmore, in his quick, hearty voice. "What's the
idea, Garry? Is it to be her career, this posing business? And where
is it going to land her? In the Winter Garden?"

"Where is it going to land _you_?" added Esme impudently.

"Why, I don't know, myself," replied Barres, with a troubled smile.
"The little thing always appealed to me--her loneliness and neglect,
and--and something about the child--I can't define it----"

"Possibilities?" suggested Mandel viciously. "Take it from me, you're
some picker, Garry."

"Perhaps. Anyway, I've given her the run of my place for the last two
years and more. And she has been growing up all the while, and I
didn't notice it. And suddenly, this spring, I discovered her for the
first time.... And--well, look at her to-night!"

"She's your private model, isn't she?" persisted Mandel.

"Entirely," replied Barres drily.

"Selfish dog!" remarked Westmore, with his lively, wholesome laugh. "I
once asked her to sit for me--more out of good nature than anything
else. And a jolly fine little model she ought to make you, Garry.
She's beginning to acquire a figure."

"She's quite wonderful that way, too," nodded Barres.

"Undraped?" inquired Esme.

"A miracle," nodded Barres absently. "Paint is