you are! Why, it was really a study of color. Frank ran across a model with that lovely auburn hair, and he made a very strong picture of her. The lights and shades were so well done, and the modelling was splendid. Every one thought it so clever. If Frank had called it 'Meditation' you wouldn't have been a bit shocked; and, as somebody says, what's in a name?"
Mr. Ellice shook his head: "Nevertheless, my dear, I do not admire his choice of a title. It may be that I am narrow, as you say. I suppose if I am to have the advantage of an artistic son-in-law I may widen."
"Oh, yes, papa, you will get lots of ideas from Frank: it's so progressive to be with artists: you will learn ever so much," said Manette encouragingly.
"And as to the 'Bathsheba,' papa, I dare say Frank would alter the title if you would give your consent to our marriage."
"Very probably," said Mr. Ellice dryly, "but I rate my consent somewhat higher than that. However, I shall run up to town to-morrow and see Mr. Roscoe. After receiving more explicit information from him as to his income and prospects I can better make up my mind."
"Now, papa," said Manette, in a tone of grave expostulation, "don't go bothering Frank about money-matters. Don't you know artists hate that sort of thing? He won't like to have you prying into his affairs."
"If he is so sensitive, my dear, he should not draw my attention to them by proposing for my daughter. He cannot justly resent my desiring to know whether you will be as safe in his care as in mine, allowing I give you to him. I shall not be too hard on him; but he must define his position, and to a certain extent he must be exact, otherwise I must withhold my consent," said Mr. Ellice, while an expression of considerable firmness settled upon his usually benign countenance.
And then the conclave came to an end.
On the morrow Mr. Ellice went to town by an early train for the purpose of interviewing his would-be son-in-law and impressing upon him the absolute necessity for defining his financial position and prospects for the future which he had asked Manette to share.
Mr. Roscoe's studio was on upper Broadway, in a building the ground-floor of which was occupied by several small stores. A narrow passage-way opened directly from the street, from which a steep stairway led to the stories above. At the left of the door of entrance, on the plastered wall, was displayed a large board, upon which were printed names, with corresponding numbers indicating the rooms occupied by each. Against every name was a slip, and upon this slip was the word "In" or "Out," as the case might be. Perceiving a possible economy of exertion in this contrivance, Mr. Ellice paused to consult it, and soon discovered that according to the guide-board Mr. Boscoe was in, and also that he inhabited the fifth floor, room 142. By dint of moving slowly and halting on the landings to regain his breath, the old gentleman finally arrived on the fifth floor, and, after a few minutes' meandering through some dimly-lighted and dusty corridors, he suddenly found himself in a corner and fronting room No. 142. The name of Francis Boscoe, done in red paint and bold lettering, embellished the panels of the door, and a slate hung beneath. Upon it was scrawled, "Back in a few moments. Wait."
Mr. Ellice wished it had occurred to Mr. Boscoe to mitigate the waiting process imposed on his visitors by placing a chair at his door. However, he leaned resignedly against the wall, and, resting on his neat umbrella, which he had brought presumably as a moral support, the day being cloudless, he waited with what patience he could for the return of Mr. Boscoe, while the conviction grew upon him that the affair touching which he had come was wholly impracticable.
The slow moments passed; to his ears came faintly the surge and roar of the busy street below; a dis-
