the sudden
realization of his prophecies of the night before seemed too good to
be true.

"In earnest? Well, rather. Young woman, your foot is on the first rung
of the ladder of fame, and the day is coming when I shall be proud to
know you."

"But who is it?" she persisted.

"Her name wouldn't mean anything to you, and I haven't time to tell
you the story, but I will take you out to dinner to-night and tell you
all about it."

"But how old is she, Tom? I must know what to prepare for."

"I wasn't indiscreet enough to ask the lady's age, but I should say
about four years. I can see that there is no chance of getting
anything but questions out of you; but I will make the appointment for
ten to-morrow morning, and call for you at six-thirty tonight for
dinner. Please be ready, so that I will not have to camp on those
confounded stairs."

Tom's story at dinner was as delightful as a fairy tale to her, and if
the first one had been made pleasant by anticipation, the feast of
realization transported her to the realm of air castles. The arrival
of the Italian family which had come from Florence to settle in New
York, bearing letters of introduction to Tom from his mother, just in
time to fit into his plans to make her a painter of children, seemed a
harbinger of good fortune. The father had been most enthusiastic when
Tom mentioned the "rising young artist" to him, and was anxious that
the sittings should commence immediately, before her time was all
taken up.

"There is only one drawback, Betsy," said Tom, as he finished his
story. "Little Carlotta speaks only Italian, so I will have to be
there a lot to translate."

"But won't the mother, or some one, come with her?" she asked, in
surprise.

"You would be no better off, for they can't any of 'em speak English.
I have promised to bring her and fetch her away, anyway."

"Tom, I don't know how to thank you for what you are doing for me; but
it is awful to be under such an obligation to anyone," she said, the
tears coming to her eyes.

"If you think it's any hardship to ride around in a cab with the young
lady, just wait until you see her. She is a raving, tearing beauty,"
he answered, laughing, but Elizabeth was none the less grateful.

Tom's enthusiastic description of the child was borne out by the
facts, and it was a very beautiful and very dainty little lady whom he
carried into the studio the next morning. She was typically Italian,
and the dark hair, wa