to the violet-and-green modelling. To my amazement, he said nothing. We sat down to tea. He asked me whether portrait-painting was my ambition? I said I thought any talent I had lay in that line, but that I should not like to paint portraits exclusively.
"'An amateur?' he asked again, looking directly at me with those searching eyes.
"'I am afraid I shall never be good enough to be anything else,' I replied. 'Women seldom rise above mediocrity.'
"It was a stupid speech, and not quite sincere. I have a better opinion of my own ability than my words indicated.
"'There are many clever lady-artists in Paris,' was the rejoinder, given, as I imagined, in a tone of some reproof.
"'Miss Hitch, for instance,' struck in his sister—'one of the American School. She sells her pictures for quite a high figure, and is making a considerable name for herself.'
"'Well, Hatty,' said the brother, balancing his spoon on the edge of his cup, and looking down at it, 'I wouldn't cite Miss Hitch. It is said she has a "ghost"—that her work is not all her own. There are others whose work is certainly genuine;' and he quoted one or two names, which I have forgotten. 'Marie Baschkirtseff had talent. She was above mediocrity.'
"'Was she anything but a clever imitator? I shouldn't care to sit at the feet of any master—Bastien-Lepage, or any one else—and paint things that might be taken, a long way off, for his!' I said scornfully.
"'Youth is generally imitative, in any form of art,' he
