asual
familiarity of the sort that exclaimed, while he fingered a bit of her
handiwork,--"Say, girlie, but that is a peach of a ring!... Is it for
Some One now?"

She laughed at his "freshness," and felt perfectly at home with him. It
was not until after several weeks of this acquaintanceship that the
affair developed, unexpectedly, the opportunity being given.

One rainy April afternoon when Adelle arrived at the studio she found it
empty except for the presence of Archie Davis, who was dozing on the
divan in front of the small stove. Adelle had come briskly up the stairs
from her car, and the ride through the damp air had given her pale
cheeks some color. She threw back her long coat, revealing a
rose-colored bodice that made her quite pretty. Then the two discovered
themselves alone in the big studio. Adelle had a faint consciousness of
the fact, but supposing that Miss Baxter would return, she tossed aside
her wrap and with a mere "Hello, Archie!" went over to the corner where
on a small bench she was wont to pound and chisel and twist.

"Say, but you look good enough to eat!" the youth remarked
appreciatively.

Adelle laughed at the compliment.

"Why are you always thinking of eating?" she asked.

"I guess because a good meal don't often come my way," he yawned in
reply.

Adelle wanted to find out why this was so, but could not frame her
question to her satisfaction. Archie happened to be in one of those rare
moments of melancholy introspection when he doubted even his divine
calling to art. He was really hungry and somewhat cold, and life did not
seem inviting.

"I don't know," he observed after a time, "as this art game is all it
looks to be from a distance--that is," he added, watching Adelle with
appreciative eyes, "unless you happen to have the dough to support it on
the side."

"Aren't you painting?" Adelle asked after another pause.

"Nope!"

"Why not?"

"I can't paint when I'm feeling bad."

"What's the matter?..."

According to the novelists love-making--"the approach of the sexes"--is
an affair of infinite precision and fine intention; but according to
nature, at least in those less self-conscious circles wherein are found
the vast majority, it is one of the casual and apparently aimless forms
of human contact. For a good hour these two played the ancient game, but
the movements, the articulate ones, at least, were of the last degree of
banality and insignificance--too trivial to recit