remote health-resorts. For him, it was clearly the best place that had been suggested.
As the door closed on the doctor, Alaric walked to the shelf on which stood his shabby despatch-box, and unlocked it. He took out his bankers' book, and sat down to reflect as to ways and means. The result of his calculations was not very satisfactory. If he did not sell the picture on his easel, which was all but finished, and which he called "A Venetian Senator," he would not have more than sufficient to take them to Mentone, and keep them there for two or three months. He hated going to a dealer and offering his work for sale; but he remembered that the well-known Mr. Jacob had once come to him, and bought a picture: perhaps, if Alaric wrote to him, this man would pay him another visit. He swallowed his pride, sat down at once, wrote and directed the letter, and, holding it in his hand, went to his sister's room at the pension.
He found the two girls together. He had not seen Elizabeth before that morning, and, after shaking hands, took the vacant chair just opposite to her, beside Hatty's sofa.
"Did you see the doctor?" she inquired querulously. "Have you heard?"
"Yes. We must leave this in ten days, or a fortnight at latest."
"But how can you leave your work, Alaric? How can you afford such an expense? It is impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible," he said, with a reassuring smile. "I hope to sell my picture before I leave Paria. And I also hope to find sitters at Mentone."
