big studio
and stopped before the picture.

"Oh! I say! Did you do that, Gordon?" she asked. "Isn't she a stunner?
Was it her own baby or did she borrow it? Cunning little mite, isn't
it?"

"A study from a model," Gordon informed her. "Yes, it is her own baby."

The older lady also came forward and inspected the painting.

"Of course, you must have flattered her a great deal," she opined. "You
have _such_ an imagination, my dear Mr. McGrath!"

"It isn't a patch on David's," he replied. "Novelists can beat painters
all hollow at that sort of thing."

"I'm awfully hungry," interrupted Miss Van Rossum. "Had to get up at an
unearthly hour to come down and meet Dad."

At once we went to the small table in the next room. The flowers were
exquisite. The young lady crunched radishes, with enthusiasm, and spoke
disparagingly of a certain hackney which, according to her, had unfairly
been awarded a blue ribbon at Piping Rock, gaining a decision over her
own palfrey. Also, she discussed Mrs. Pickley-Sanderson's form at tennis
and spoke of the new shotgun her father had brought over for her, from
England.

"What's your handicap at golf, Mr. Cole?" she asked me, graciously.

"I'm afraid David's a fossil," put in Gordon. "He's utterly ignorant of
the most important things of life."

"What a pity," she sympathized. "And how do you manage to spend the
time?"

"I--I don't spend it, Miss Van Rossum," I answered, inanely. "I try to
save it and make it last as long as possible."

"How funny," she declared, and gave me up as hopeless, directing the
remainder of her conversation at Gordon.

Finally, I took my leave, conscious that I had been asinine in my
remarks and had made a deplorable impression. Upon the picture I cast
one more look before leaving. Those wonderful eyes of Frances were
directed towards the baby, of course, but for an instant I felt that she
was about to raise them and smile at me. At any rate she doesn't
consider me as a useless incumbrance of the earth because I can't play
golf or shoot birds. She is restful and gentle, whereas Miss Van Rossum
appears to me to have the soothing qualities of a healthy bass drum. But
then, I may be mistaken.

CHAPTER VIII

WE TAKE AN EXCURSION

The day was a hot one. In Gordon's studio a slight breeze had blown in
and mingled with the scent of the flowers with which his table was
adorned, and the behavior of my collar had been of the best. The ladies,
secure