ed in dust. There was no one in the "life" room at the time of
Flamby's visit, except an old Italian, who was a model, but who looked
like an organ-grinder. The suspended lamps, with their huge ugly shades,
had an ominous appearance by daylight, and Flamby found herself
considering the unfinished drawings and paintings which were visible
about the large bleak room, and trying to conjure up thought-forms of
the students who had executed them. Later she learned that there were a
number of smaller painting-rooms right and left, above and below, but
the dirtiest room of all was that in which lumps of clay lay casually
about on tables and rests and on the floor, where embryonic things
perched upon tripods, like antediluvian birds and saurians, and where
the daughters of Praxiteles and sons of Phidias pursued their claggy but
fascinating studies under a sculptor who possessed the inestimable gift
of teaching more than he knew himself. It was all very unromantic.
Strange how ugliness is the mother of beauty, and the sacred
fairy-winged scarab of Art comes forth from dirt.

* * * * *

One day Paul came to The Hostel. Flamby was engaged in hanging pictures
when she heard his voice in the courtyard below. She was standing on a
chair, but her heart began to beat so ridiculously that she was
compelled to sit down. She swore with a fluency and resource worthy of
her father, then in feverish haste attempted to strip off her overall
and wash her hands and adjust her unruly hair at one and the same time.
She ceased her frantic efforts as suddenly as she had begun them, drying
her hands and tousling her hair fiercely. What did she care? Let him
find her looking like a freak; it did not matter. "You are a little
ass," she told herself bitterly; "a silly little donkey! Have you _no_
brains? He doesn't care how you look. You should not care what he thinks
about you. Why don't you get in a panic when Don comes alone? You were
as red as a tomato half a minute ago; now you are as white as a ghost.
You poor contemptible little idiot!"

She snatched up the hammer which she had dropped and resumed the task of
attaching a picture fastener to the wall; but as she passed the mirror
above the fireplace she raised her disengaged hand and pulled a curl
into place. She banged a little brass nail so hard that it bounced out
of the plaster and fell upon the floor. Paul and Don were at the door
and the bell was ringing. Fl