wary
admirers just now. She will capture you, and I shall see a new and
obsequious slave."

Greenleaf attempted to speak, but could not get in a word.

"I felicitate you," continued Easelmann. "You will have a valuable
experience, at any rate. To-morrow or next day we will call upon them.
Good morning!"

Greenleaf returned his friend's farewell; then walking to a window, he
took out a miniature. It was the picture of a young and beautiful girl.
The calm eyes looked out upon him trustfully; the smile upon the mouth
had never seemed so lovely. He thought of the proud, dazzling coquette,
and then looked upon the image of the tender, earnest, truthful face
before him. As he looked, he smiled at his friend's prophecy.

"This is my talisman," he said; and he raised the picture to his lips.

* * * * *

An evening or two later, as Easelmann was putting his brushes into
water, Greenleaf came into his studio. The cloud-compelling meerschaums
were produced, and they sat in high-backed chairs, watching the thin
wreaths of smoke as they curled upwards to the skylight. The sale of
pictures had taken place, and the prices, though not high enough to make
the fortunes of the artists, were yet reasonably remunerative; the
pictures were esteemed almost as highly, Easelmann thought, as the
decorative sketches in an omnibus.

"And did Sandford buy your picture, Greenleaf?"

"Yes, I believe so. In fact, I saw it in his drawing-room, yesterday."

"Certainly; how could I have forgotten it? I must have been thinking of
the animated picture there. What is paint, when one sees such a glowing,
glancing, fascinating, arch, lovely, tantalizing"--

"Don't! Don't pelt me with your parts of speech!"

"I was trying to select the right adjective."

"Well, you need not shower down a basketful, merely to pick out one."

"But confess, now, you are merely the least captivated?"

"Not the least."

"No little palpitations at the sound of her name? No short breath nor
upturned eyes? No vague longings nor 'billowy unrest'?"

"None."

"You slept well last night?"

"Perfectly."

"No dreams of a sea-green palace, with an Undine in wavy hair, and a big
brother with fan-coral plumes, who afterwards turned into a sea-dog?"

"No,--I cut the late suppers you tempt me with, and preserve my
digestion."

"A great mistake! One good dream in a nightmare will give you more
poetical ideas than you can paint in a month: