It's rather amusing," he murmured, "but that kid, Dulcie, seems to
remind me of these people--somehow or other.... One scarcely looks for
qualities in the child of an Irish janitor.... I wonder who her mother
was...."

* * * * *

When he looked up again Dulcie was standing there on the thick rug. On
her naked feet were jade bracelets, jade-set rings on her little toes;
a cascade of jade and gold falling over her breasts to the straight,
narrow breadth of peacock hue which fell to her ankles. And on her
childish head, clasping the ruddy bobbed hair, glittered the
jade-incrusted diadem of a fairy princess of Cathay.

[Illustration: "YOU LITTLE MIRACLE!"]

The Prophet, gathered close to her breast, stared back at Barres with
eyes that dimmed the splendid jade about him.

"That settles it," he said, the tint of excitement rising in his
cheeks. "I _have_ discovered a model and a wonder! And right here is
where I paint my winter Academy--right here and right now!... And I
call it 'The Prophets.' Climb up on that model stand and squat there
cross-legged, and stare at me--straight at me--the way your cat
stares!... There you are. That's right! Don't move. Stay put or I'll
come over and bow-string you!--you little miracle!"

"Do--you mean me?" faltered Dulcie.

"You bet, Sweetness! Do you know how beautiful you are? Well, never
mind----" He had begun already to draw with a wet brush, and now he
relapsed into absorbed silence.

The Prophet watched him steadily. The studio became intensely still.

VIII

DULCIE ANSWERS

The studio door bell rang while Barres was at breakfast one morning
late in June. Aristocrates leisurely answered the door, but shut it
again immediately and walked out into the kitchenette without any
explanation.

Selinda removed the breakfast cover and fetched the newspaper. Later,
Aristocrates, having washed his master's brushes, brought them into
the studio mincingly, upon a silver service-salver.

"No letters?" inquired Barres, glancing up over the morning paper and
laying aside his cigarette.

"No letters, suh. No co'espondence in any shape, fo'm or manner,
suh."

"Anybody to see me?" inquired Barres, always amused at Aristocrates'
flights of verbiage.

"Nobody, suh, excusin' a persistless 'viduality inquihin' fo' you,
suh."

"What persistless individuality was that?" asked Barres.

"A ve'y or-nary human objec', suh, pahshially afflicted with one