ng else."

The trees above their heads made leafy bowers in summer, but now between
the fine bare branches, they saw the delicate wintry sky, pale with the
fading light of what had been a rare January day.

"Suppose I get an order for you to paint a portrait and you are paid in
advance."

She stopped, holding him back by the arm, and exclaimed, joyously--

"Oh, but you could not!"

"Suppose that I can. If I do succeed and you paint the portrait, will
you do something for me?"

She looked up at him quickly. He was much above her. Nora Scarlet had
seen Fairfax several times a week for many months. She knew him as well
as any person can know another by sight--she knew his clothes, the way
he wore them. It had been easy to study his face attentively, for he was
so absorbed in general that he was unconscious of scrutiny. She had
learned every one of his features pretty well by heart. Solitary as she
was, without companions or friends except for her studio mates, she had
grown to think as women do of a man they choose, to surround him with
fancies and images. She had idealized this unknown artist, and her
thoughts kept her company, and he had become almost part of her life
already. She looked up at him now and blushed. He put his hand down over
hers lightly.

"I mean that when the portrait is finished, we will have it criticized
by the subject first, then by some one in whom you have great
confidence, and if you are certain then that you have a vocation, we
will see what can be done--some way will open up. There is always sure
to be a path toward the thing that is to be. But if the criticism is
unfavourable, I want you to promise me to go back to England and to your
people, and to give up art as bravely as you can--I mean, courageously,
like a good soldier who has fought well and lost the battle. Perhaps,"
Fairfax said, smiling, "if I were not an artist my advice would be worth
less, but the place is too full of half-successes. If you can't be at
the top, don't fill up the ranks. Get down as soon as you can and be
another kind of success."

The advice was sound and practical. She listened to his agreeable voice,
softened by the Southern accent. She watched him as he talked, but his
face was not that of an adviser. It was charmingly personal and his
smile the sweetest she had ever seen. She murmured--

"You are awfully kind. I promise."

"Good," he exclaimed heartily, "you are a first-rate sort; however it
turns o