ould
be beautiful or she wouldn't be there."

As for Kenny, his path was pleasant, as it always was. If a waving arm
was not bidding for his attention, it was a laughing hail or a hearty
hand upon his shoulder. His bright dark face sparkled with the zest of
popularity.

Joan thought him as care-free as a boy.

"We dance in the club gallery," he told her, smiling at the look of
wonder in her eyes.

"And the paintings and sculpture?"

"A members' exhibition. The sculptured lion staring from his pedestal
at us is Jan's. Look at the superb muscle play of his flank! The
midsummer woods--see, how well the lad has painted _air_!--is Garry's.
And my pine picture's over there."

"And Sid?"

Kenny danced her the length of the gallery. A white line of sculpture
gleamed on either side behind a rail of brass.

"Down here," he said. "I saved it for the last. The beggar's
painted--me!"

It was Kenny in a painter's smock intent upon a palette, vividly,
whimsically, delightfully Kenny. There was tenderness and sympathy in
Sid's portrayal.

Joan clung to his hand in delight.

And was it all Bohemia, she asked.

Ah! admitted Kenny twinkling, there you had him. Bohemia, he fancied,
was always wherever you yourself were not. The men and women who did
big things were too busy for picturesque posing. Bohemia, as legend
read it, had to do with rags and dreams and ambition without effort, a
shabby, down-at-heel pretension that glittered without gratifying. The
Bohemians of to-day were the failures of to-morrow. And the crowd who
lived at the Holbein Club lived, loved, worked and died much in the
fashion of less gifted folk. If there was a Bohemia of success,
however, it danced here to-night.

But, girleen, the music was urging! And who could resist the sweet
wild delirium of a violin's call? Certainly not an Irishman intent
upon a moonbeam imprisoned in a girl's bright hair. But one sound
sweeter!

"And that?" asked Joan as they glided away again among the dancers.

Kenny threw back his head and his eyes laughed.

"A robin singing in a blackthorn!"

Joan smiled at the boyish sparkle of his face. He was so charmingly,
so irresponsibly young and gay.

His Bohemia of success she found a startling triumph.

"Joan's horribly disturbed," Ann telephoned in the morning. "As her
guardian you'll have to settle a number of infatuated young men. The
telephone's been ringing all morning. I think it's a case o