otions, he in the sculptor's blouse of his affectation, she
in her tarlatan skirt.

"It's like a short story by de Maupassant," said Maurice.

"Is it? You and your likes! I'm like a soppy girl."

"You are," said Maurice with intention. To Jenny, for the first time, he
seemed to be criticising her.

"Thanks," she said, as, with a shrug of the shoulder and curl of the
lip, she walked out of the studio, coldly hostile.

The rage was too deep to prevent her from arranging her hair with
deliberation. Nor did she fumble over a single hook in securing the
skirt of ordinary life. Soon Maurice was tapping at the door, but she
could not answer him.

"Jenny," he called, "I've come to say I'm a pig."

Still she did not answer; but, when she was perfectly ready, flung open
the door and said tonelessly:

"Please let me pass."

Her eyes, resentful, their luster fled, were dull as lapis lazuli. Her
lips were no longer visible.

"You mustn't go away like this. Jenny, we sha'n't see one another for a
fortnight or more. Don't let's part bad friends."

"Please let me pass."

He stood aside, outfaced by such determination, and Jenny, with downcast
eyes intent upon the buttoning of her glove, passed him carelessly.

"Jenny!" he called desperately over the banisters. "Jenny! Don't go like
that. Darling, don't; I can't bear it." Then he ran to catch her by the
arm.

"Kiss me good-bye and be friends. Do, Jenny. Jenny. Do! Please! I can't
bear to see your practice dress lying there on the floor."

Sentiment had its way this time, and Jenny began to cry.

"Oh, Maurice," she wept, "why are you so unkind to me? I hate myself
for spoiling you so, but I must. I don't care about anything excepting
you. I do love you, Maurice."

In the dusty passage they were friends again.

"And now my eyes is all red," she lamented.

"Never mind, darling girl. Come back while I get some things together,
and see me off at Waterloo, will you?"

She assented, as enlaced they went up again to the studio.

"It's all the fault of that rotten statue," he explained. "I was furious
with myself and vented it on you. Never mind. I'll begin again when I
come back. Look, we'll put the tarlatan away in the drawer I take my
things out of. Shall we?"

Soon they were driving in a hansom cab towards the railway station.

"We always seem to wind up our quarrels in cabs," Maurice observed.

"I don't know why we quarrel. I hate quarreling."

"We won't any