cked herself, looking across at him uncertainly.

"Go on," he nodded.

"That is all."

"No; tell me the rest."

She sat with head bent, slender fingers picking at her napkin; then,
without raising her troubled eyes:

"Life has been--curious. My mother was bedridden. My childhood and
girlhood were passed caring for her. That is all I ever did until--a
year ago," she added, her voice falling so low he could scarcely hear
her.

"She died, then?"

"A year ago last February."

"You went to school. You must have made friends there."

"I went to a public school for a year. After that mother taught me."

"She must have been extremely cultivated."

The girl nodded, looking absently at the cloth. Then, glancing up:

"I wonder whether you will understand me when I tell you why I decided
to ask employment of artists."

"I'll try to," he said, smiling.

"It was an intense desire to be among cultivated people--if only for a
few hours. Besides, I had read about artists; and their lives seemed so
young, so gay, so worth living--please don't think me foolish and
immature, Mr. Neville--but I was so stifled, so cut off from such
people, so uninspired, so--so starved for a little gaiety--and I needed
youthful companionship--surroundings where people of my own age and
intelligence sometimes entered--and I had never had it--"

She looked at him with a strained, wistful expression as though begging
him to understand her:

"I couldn't remain at the theatre," she said. "I had little talent--no
chance except chances I would not tolerate; no companionship except what
I was unfitted for by education and inclination.... The men
were--impossible. There may have been girls I could have liked--but I
did not meet them. So, as I had to do something--and my years of
seclusion with mother had unfitted me for any business--for office work
or shop work--I thought that artists might care to employ me--might give
me--or let me see--be near--something of the gayer, brighter, more
pleasant and youthful side of life--"

She ceased, bent her head thoughtfully.

"You want--friends? Young ones--with intellects? You want to combine
these with a chance of making a decent living?"

"Yes." She looked up candidly: "I am simply starved for it. You must
believe that when you see what I have submitted to--gone through with in
your studio"--she blushed vividly--"in a--a desperate attempt to escape
the--the loneliness, the silence and isolation"--she