"Mentone!" echoed Elizabeth. "That is a fashionable winter quarter, isn't it? Couldn't you find some quieter place?"
"I can't afford to be too quiet. I must think of sitters. I must be within reach of the multitude. Besides, there are splendid studies, there, I am told. I shall paint some pot-boilers. Have you a postage-stamp, Hatty?"
"I have one," said Elizabeth, quickly, taking a small book from her pocket. "Give me your letter, and I will put it on."
She stretched out her hand, and, taking the letter he handed to her, said, as she affixed the stamp—
"You will not mind my accompanying Hatty, Mr. Baring? I am very independent, and shall not be in your way, I promise you."
He looked embarrassed. "Is not this too great a sacrifice to friendship. Miss Shaw? You came here to study painting. My sister has no claim on you, and———"
"Oh, do not talk about 'claims.' It sounds so legal. I want to go with Hatty; and as you say there are splendid studies at Mentone, I shan't be wasting my time."
She handed the letter back to him, while Miss Baring cried, in a tremulous voice—
"Oh, my dear! are you sure?"
The fact is, her sensitive New-England conscience demanded anxiously whether she was justified in accepting this proof of friendship. Longing with all her heart, as she did, that Elizabeth should accompany them, it is possible that she would have refused with stern self-
