In the choicest bit of wall-space, just opposite the entrance to the inner room, hung "Art and Need." Something in its style had impressed strongly the presiding committee. They had given it a place of honour. Anne Bradford's little picture had been assigned to the darkest corner.
Coming in from the outer room, one saw "Art and Need" full in the light of the roof-window, a miracle of opalescent colour, with the beautiful sleeping woman in the shadow of suggested trees. Even the hands and the arms were drowsy, and the white fingers slept.
Helen gazed in silence. People crowded past, pushed her hat awry, stepped on her foot, but she did not know it. Her eyes were moist when she raised them to Howard Stanton's.
"I am so glad!" she whispered.
He bent his head to listen, and laughed excitedly.
"It's rather better than I expected, as the old gentleman said when he went to heaven. Won't you come over here and sit down?"
