know what's become of her?"

"Nothing beyond what I wrote to you. Mrs. Goldsmith discovered she had
written the nasty book, and sent her packing. I have never liked to
broach the subject myself to Mrs. Goldsmith, knowing how unpleasant it
must be to her. Raphael's version is that Esther went away of her own
accord; but I can't see what grounds he has for judging."

"I would rather trust Raphael's version," said Sidney, with an
adumbration of a wink in his left eyelid. "But didn't you look for her?"

"Where? If she's in London, she's swallowed up. If she's gone to another
place, it's still more difficult to find her."

"There's the Agony Column!"

"If Esther wanted us to know her address, what can prevent her sending
it?" asked Addie, with dignity.

"I'd find her soon enough, if I wanted to," murmured Sidney.

"Yes; but I'm not sure we want to. After all, she cannot be so nice as I
thought. She certainly behaved very ungratefully to Mrs. Goldsmith. You
see what becomes of wild opinions."

"Addie! Addie!" said Sidney reproachfully, "how _can_ you be so
conventional?"

"I'm _not_ conventional!" protested Addie, provoked at last. "I always
liked Esther very much. Even now, nothing would give me greater pleasure
than to have her for a bridesmaid. But I can't help feeling she deceived
us all."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Sidney warmly. "An author has a right to be
anonymous. Don't you think I'd paint anonymously if I dared? Only, if I
didn't put my name to my things no one would buy them. That's another of
the advantages of my profession. Once make your name as an artist, and
you can get a colossal income by giving up art."

"It was a vulgar book!" persisted Addie, sticking to the point.

"Fiddlesticks! It was an artistic book--bungled."

"Oh, well!" said Addie, as the tears welled from her eyes, "if you're so
fond of unconventional girls, you'd better marry them."

"I would," said Sidney, "but for the absurd restriction against
polygamy."

Addie got up with an indignant jerk. "You think I'm a child to be played
with!"

She turned her back upon him. His face changed instantly; he stood
still a moment, admiring the magnificent pose. Then he recaptured her
reluctant hand.

"Don't be jealous already, Addie," he said. "It's a healthy sign of
affection, is a storm-cloud, but don't you think it's just a wee, tiny,
weeny bit too previous?"

A pressure of the hand accompanied each of the little adjectives. Addi