all this to her favourite, Olive Rothesay, one day when
they were busying themselves in gardening--an occupation wherein their
tastes agreed, and which contributed no little to the affection and
confidence that was gradually springing up between them.

"It is a great thing to be an artist," said Olive, musingly.

"Nothing like it in the whole world, my dear. Think of all the stories
of little peasant-boys who have thus risen to be the companions of
kings, whereby the kings were the parties most honoured. Remember the
stories of Francis I. and Titian, of Henry VII. and Hans Holbein, of
Vandyck and Charles I.!"

"You seem quite learned in Art, Miss Vanbrugh. I wish you would impart
to me a little of your knowledge.''

"To be sure I will, my dear," said the proud, delighted little woman.
"You see, when I was a girl, I 'read up' on Art, that I might be able to
talk to Michael. Somehow, he never did care to talk with me; but perhaps
he may yet.".

Olive's mind seemed wandering from the conversation, and from her
employment, too; for the mignonette-bed she was weeding lost quite as
many flowers as weeds. At last she said--

"Miss Meliora, do people ever grow _rich_ as artists?"

"Michael has not done so," answered her friend (at which Olive began to
blush for what seemed a thoughtless question). "But Michael has peculiar
notions. However, I feel sure he will be a rich man yet--like Sir Joshua
Reynolds, and Sir Thomas Lawrence, and many more."

Olive began to muse again. Then she said timidly, "I wonder why, with
all your love for Art, you yourself did not become an artist?"

"Bless you, my dear, I should never think of such a thing. I have no
genius at all for anything--Michael always said so. I an artist!--a poor
little woman like me!"

"Yet some women have been painters."

"Oh, yes, plenty. There was Angelica Kauffman, and Properzia Rossi, and
Elizabetta Sirani. In our day, there is Mrs. A---- and Miss B----, and
the two C----s. And if you read about the old Italian masters, you will
find that many of them had wives, or daughters, or sisters, who helped
them a great deal. I wish I had been such an one! Depend upon it, my
dear girl," said Meliora, waxing quite oracular in her enthusiasm,
"there is no profession in the world that brings fame, and riches, and
happiness, like that of an artist."

Olive only half believed in the innocent optimism of her companion.
Still Miss Vanbrugh's words impressed themselves st