n matter Mr. Haviland is an idealist, while in form he is an
ultra-realist. We dare to prophesy that he will become the founder of a
new romantico-classical school in the near future----"

"Oh, Ted, do be quiet, and let me think for a minute."

"What's the matter, Kathy?"

"I don't know. I think I'm tired, or else it's the cold."

Ted looked at her earnestly (for him) and then came over to her and
stroked her hair. "There's something wrong. Won't you confide in your
brother?"

"I'm all right--only lazy."

"Can't--can't I do anything?"

"Well, perhaps. I don't want you to give up much of your time to it; but
if you'd finish some of those black-and-white things--I don't feel equal
to tackling them all single-handed."

"Oh," said the boy, turning very red, "why didn't you say so before?" He
sat down and began at once on the pile of manuscripts waiting to be
illustrated. But he continued to talk. "I saw Vincent the other day, and
he told me his opinion of you pretty plainly."

"What did he say?"

"Why, that you've sacrificed your poor brother to your desire to cut a
moral figure; that you've been cultivating all sorts of extravagant
virtues at my expense. I might have been playing the most heroic parts,
and getting any amount of applause, if you hadn't selfishly bagged all
the best ones for yourself. You've taken up the whole of the stage, so
that I haven't had room even to exercise the minor virtues. Just reach
me that sheaf of crayons, there's a good girl. Thanks." Ted put on a
judical air, and chose a crayon. "Look there! you've taken the most
uncomfortable chair and the worst light in the studio, when I might have
been posing in them all the time. I haven't had half a chance. Vincent
said so. No wonder he's disgusted with you. Ah! that's not so bad for a
mere tyro. No, Kathy, he's quite right. You're an angel, and I've been a
lazy scoundrel. But you'll admit that during my painful mental
affliction I wasn't quite responsible. And afterwards--well, how was I
to know? I thought we were getting on very nicely."

"So we were, Ted--up till now."

Her last words were so charged with feeling that Ted looked up
surprised. But he said nothing, being a person of tact.

The sitting that morning was not a long one. Hardy seemed tired and
depressed. After posing patiently for half an hour, he gave it up.

"It's no good this morning. I must go out and get a little warmth into
me. You people had better come too."

"