she began to laugh at it all, and then I painted her and sent her to the Salon.'
The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing.
Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly.
'Never mind about the picture,' he said. 'Are you really going back to Kami's a month before your time?'
'I must, if I want to get the picture done.'
'And that's all you want?'
'Of course. Don't be stupid, Dick.'
'You haven't the power. You have only the ideas—the ideas and the little cheap impulses. How you could have kept at your work for ten years steadily is a mystery to me. So you are really going,—a month before you need?'
'I must do my work.'
'Your work—-bah!... No, I didn't mean that. It's all right, dear. Of course you must do your work, and—I think I'll say good-bye for this week.'
'Won't you even stay for tea?'
'No, thank you. Have I your leave to go, dear? There's nothing more you particularly want me to do, and the line-work doesn't matter.'
'I wish you could stay, and then we could talk over my picture. If only one single picture's a success it draws attention to all the others. I know
