re pupil with others. He will
not remember Tom Rainsford."

Evidently Cedersholm had not remembered him. The subject was never
mentioned between them again. Except as he heard it in general
conversation, Cedersholm's name was no longer frequently on Mrs.
Faversham's lips. He stopped working, wrapped his plaster carefully and
pushed the stool back into the corner. Near it was a pile of books which
he had carefully done up to return to Mrs. Faversham. She had obtained
orders for him from her friends, none of which he had accepted. Why
should he be so churlish? Why should he refuse to take advantage of her
kindness and generosity? Why should not her influence help him on his
stony way? What part did his pride play in it? Was it on account of
Cedersholm, or was it something else?

At noon he went out to eat his luncheon in a little cafe where he was
known and popular. The little room was across a court-yard filled with
potted plants on which the winter had laid icy fingers, but which to-day
in the sunshine seemed to have garbed themselves with something like
spring. The little restaurant was low, noisy, filled with the clatter
and bustle of the noon meal served to hungry students and artists. The
walls were painted by the brush of different skilful craftsmen, young
artists who could not pay their accounts and had settled their scores by
leaving paintings on the walls, and one could read distinguished names.
When Fairfax came here, as he sometimes did, he always took a little
table in the second and darker room by another window which gave on a
quiet court on whose stones were heaped up the statues and remains of an
old Louis XV palace. This room was reserved for the older and quieter
clients, and here, at another table in the corner, a pretty girl with a
shock of curly hair under a soft hat and an old cape and an old
portfolio, always ate, and she sometimes smiled at him. He would catch
her eye, and she was, as Fairfax, always alone.

Girl-students and grisettes, and others less respectable, had eyed him
and elbowed him, but not one had tempted him. There was no merit in his
celibacy, but to-day, as he glanced over at the English girl-student,
something about her caught his attention as never before. She was half
turned to him; her portfolio lay on the table at her side with the
remains of a scanty lunch. Her head was bowed on her hands. She looked
dejected, forlorn, bringing her little unhappiness to the small
restauran