shed Bertram, gloomily.

"Aren't you putting more work than usual into this one--and more
sittings?"

"Well, yes," laughed Bertram, a little shortly. "You see, she's changed
the pose twice already."

"Changed it!"

"Yes. Wasn't satisfied. Fancied she wanted it different."

"But can't you--don't you have something to say about it?"

"Oh, yes, of course; and she claims she'll yield to my judgment, anyhow.
But what's the use? She's been a spoiled darling all her life, and in
the habit of having her own way about everything. Naturally, under those
circumstances, I can't expect to get a satisfactory portrait, if she's
out of tune with the pose. Besides, I will own, so far her suggestions
have made for improvement--probably because she's been happy in making
them, so her expression has been good."

Billy wet her lips.

"I saw her the other night," she said lightly. (If the lightness was
a little artificial Bertram did not seem to notice it.) "She is
certainly--very beautiful."

"Yes." Bertram got to his feet and began to walk up and down the little
room. His eyes were alight. On his face the "painting look" was king.
"It's going to mean a lot to me--this picture, Billy. In the first place
I'm just at the point in my career where a big success would mean a
lot--and where a big failure would mean more. And this portrait is bound
to be one or the other from the very nature of the thing."

"I-is it?" Billy's voice was a little faint.

"Yes. First, because of who the sitter is, and secondly because of what
she is. She is, of course, the most famous subject I've had, and half
the artistic world knows by this time that Marguerite Winthrop is being
done by Henshaw. You can see what it'll be--if I fail."

"But you won't fail, Bertram!"

The artist lifted his chin and threw back his shoulders.

"No, of course not; but--" He hesitated, frowned, and dropped himself
into a chair. His eyes studied the fire moodily. "You see," he resumed,
after a moment, "there's a peculiar, elusive something about her
expression--" (Billy stirred restlessly and gave her thread so savage a
jerk that it broke)"--a something that isn't easily caught by the brush.
Anderson and Fullam--big fellows, both of them--didn't catch it. At
least, I've understood that neither her family nor her friends are
satisfied with _their_ portraits. And to succeed where Anderson and
Fullam failed--Jove! Billy, a chance like that doesn't come to a fellow
twice in