sordid question of ways and means? It might be, as Hatty believed, that her friend had some little fortune of her own; but he, Alaric, had nothing—absolutely nothing but what he could make. And never would he ask a woman to be his wife, unless he knew that his income was adequate to support them both.
On his return, the two young women were greatly excited with the news he brought. Hatty had heard of the rich Monsieur Melchior, and his fine gallery of pictures. That he should sit to her brother would be the making of Alaric—he would spring lightly and quickly up the ladder of fame, she was sure. Elizabeth's face beamed with pleasure.
"I hope he is not too ugly," she said. "A rich Jew sounds like a pendulous nose and protruding under-lip."
"On the contrary, he is decidedly handsome. Not very good style, perhaps—inclined to gorgeous jewellery and brilliant apparel—and I am not sure that the expression of the face is a good one; but there is plenty of it—that is the main thing. Many of the finest portraits in existence are of men one wouldn't make intimate friends of."
"But I hope you will find it possible to make an intimate friend of him," said Hatty. "His coming up to you like that, when you did not even bow to him, shows that he is drawn towards you; and if he gets to like you more and more, as he must, if you will make yourself pleasant to him, he may be of great service to you, dear."
"You are getting horribly worldly," said her brother, laughing. "You would never have said that when you were in New England. It is all the demoralizing influence of Paris."
