tatue of Satan after the fall from heaven,
and that everybody said: 'Well done, Barbs, bully for you,' 'Got Rodin
skinned a mile'--it was you said that--and so forth and so on. I rose,
swollen with conceit, and made a sketch of the head I'd dreamed about,
so's not to forget the pose, and then I went to sleep again. Next day,
early, a man stopped me in Washington Square and begged for a dime. I
looked at him, and he had just the expression of the fallen Satan I'd
dreamed about--a beast of a face, but all filled with a sort of hopeless
longing to 'get back,' and remorse. I invited him to pose for me--not
for a dime--but for real money. Well, he fell for it. And for all that
morning he looked just the way I wanted him to look. But the next
morning, having had the spending of certain moneys, he looked too tidy
and well fed for Satan. And this morning he was hopeless. He looked smug
and fatuous and disgustingly self-satisfied. So I gave him quite a lot
of money, not wishing to hurt the creature's feelings, and told him to
go away." She looked up, laughing at herself. "Do you know, I really
believed I'd dreamed out a golden inspiration, and then to strike just
the face I wanted--and then to have everything foozle out!"

Wilmot walked over to the modelling-table on which, strongly modelled in
wet clay but quite meaningless, was the bust of a man.

"I think." said Barbara, "it would look better if you snubbed his nose
for him."

Wilmot snubbed the long nose heavenward, and the effect was such as to
make them laugh. Barbara recovered all her usual good humor.

[Illustration: She had on her work-apron, but she was not working.]

"Get some forms out of the kitchen," she said, "and we'll turn him
into mud pies."

For half an hour they diverted themselves, displaying a tremendous
rivalry and enthusiasm. And then Barbara announced that there had been
enough foolishness, and that if Wilmot would put fuel on the fire, he
might talk with her till lunch-time and then take her out to lunch.

"Always provided," she said, "that you are not broke at the moment. In
which case Barbara will pay and tip."

"I've had a funny adventure," said Wilmot. "I _was_ dreadfully broke. A
man I hadn't seen for years and years--and only the once at
that--stopped me in the street, told me I was broke, and offered to lend
me money. Wilmot accepted, and is now plenty flush enough to blow to
lunch, thank you!"

Barbara, reseated herself in the deep cha