re's a--an art patron who
wants to contribute to the cause."

The girl, whose face had become flushed and almost frightened, held out
her quarter.

"I--I--don't know," she began. "I was interested in your picture and I
thought--Mr. Tenney said--"

Peter Quick Banta took the coin with perfect dignity. "Thank you," said
he. "There ain't much appreciation of art just at this season. But if
you'll come down to Coney about June, I'll show you some sand-modeling
that _is_ sand-modeling--'s much as five dollars a day I've taken
in there."

Miss Holland recovered her social poise.

"I'd like to very much," she said cheerfully.

She and Julien walked on in silence. Suddenly he laughed, a little
jarringly. "Well," he said, "does that help you to place me?"

"I'm not trying to place you," she answered.

"Is that quite true?" he mocked.

"No; it isn't. It's a downright lie," said Bobbie finding courage to
raise her eyes to his.

"And now, I suppose, I shall be 'my good man' or something like that, to
you."

"Do you think it likely?"

"You called MacLachan that, you know," he reminded her.

"Long ago. When I was--when I didn't understand Our Square."

"And now, of course, our every feeling and thought is an open book to
your penetrating vision."

Her lip quivered. "I don't know why you should want to be so hateful to
me."

For a flashing second his eyes answered that appeal with a look that
thrilled and daunted her. "To keep from being something else that I've
no right to be," he muttered.

"How many more sittings do you think it will take to finish the
picture?" she asked, striving to get on safer ground.

"Only one or two, I suppose," he answered morosely.

Such was Julien's condition of mind after the last sitting that he
actually left the precious portrait unguarded by neglecting to lock the
door of the studio on going out, and the Bonnie Lassie and I, happening
in, beheld it in its fulfillment. A slow flush burned its way upward in
the Bonnie Lassie's face as she studied it.

"He's done it!" she exclaimed. "Flower and flame! Why did I ever take to
sculpture? One can't get that in the metal."

"He's done it," I echoed.

"Of course, technically, it's rather a sloppy picture."

"It's a glorious picture!" I cried.

"Naturally that," returned the exasperating critic. "It always will
be--when you paint with your heart's blood."

"Do you think your friend Bobbie appreciates the medium in which she's