the Boulevard St. Germain. He tried
to look cheerful as he mounted the stairs and threw the duplicate
Rembrandt into a corner of the studio, behind a stack of unfinished
sketches. Diane entered from the bedroom, ravishingly dressed for the
street in a costume that well set off her perfect figure. She was a
picture of beauty with her ivory complexion, her mass of dark brown
hair, and the wonderfully large and deep eyes that had been one of her
chief charms at the Folies Bergere.

"Good boy!" she cried. "You did not keep me waiting long. But you look
as glum as a bear. What is the matter?"

Jack explained briefly, in an appealing voice.

"I'm awfully sorry for your sake, dear," he added. "We are down to our
last twenty-franc piece, but in another fortnight--"

"Then you won't take me?"

"How can I? Don't be unreasonable."

"You promised, Jack. And see, I am all ready. I won't stay at home!"

"Is it my fault, Diane? Can I help it that Von Whele has left Paris?"

"You can help it that you have no money. Oh, I wish I had not given up
the stage!"

Diane stamped one little foot, and angry tears rose to her eyes. She
tore off her hat and jacket and dashed them to the floor. She threw
herself on a couch.

"You deceived me!" she cried bitterly. "You promised that I should want
for nothing--that you would always have plenty of money. And this is how
you keep your word! You are selfish, unkind! I hate you!"

She continued to reproach him, growing more and more angry. Words of
the lowest Parisian argot, picked up from her companions of the Folies
Bergere, fell from her lovely lips--words that brought a blush of shame,
a look of horror and repulsion, to Jack's face.

"Diane," he said pleadingly, as he bent over the couch.

Her mood changed as quickly, and she suddenly clasped her arms around
his neck.

"Forgive me, Jack," she whispered.

"I always do," he sighed.

"And, please, please get some money--now."

"You know that I can't."

"Yes, you can. You have lots of friends--they won't refuse you."

"But I hate to ask them. Of course, Jimmie Drexell would gladly loan me
a few pounds--"

"Then go to him," pleaded Diane, as she hung on his neck and stopped his
protests with a shower of kisses. "Go and get the money, Jack, dear--you
can pay it back when your remittance comes. And we will have such a
jolly day! I am sure you don't want to work."

Jack hesitated, and finally gave in; it was hard for him to resist