rous as inspiration but
enchanting to gaze upon--was very busy making out of wax a diminutive
figure of the running Arethusa.

And Dulcie, poor child, what with being poised on the ball of one
little foot and with the other leg slung up in a padded loop, almost
perished. Perspiration spangled her body like dew powdering a rose;
sweat glistened on the features and shoulder-bared arms of the
impassioned sculptor, even blinding him at times; but he worked on in
a sort of furious exaltation, reeking of ill-smelling wax. And Dulcie,
perfectly willing to die at her post, thought she was going to, and
finally fainted away with an alarming thud.

Which brought Barres to his senses, even before she had recovered
hers; and he proclaimed a vacation for his overworked Muse and his
model, too.

"Do you feel better, Sweetness?" he enquired, as she opened her eyes
when Selinda exchanged a wet compress for an ice-bag.

Dulcie, flat on the lounge, swathed in a crash bathrobe, replied only
by a slight but reassuring flutter of one hand.

Esme Trenor sauntered in for a gossip, wearing his celebrated
lilac-velvet jacket and Louis XV slippers.

"Oh, the devil," he drawled, looking from Dulcie to the Arethusa;
"she's worth more than your amateurish statuette, Garry."

"You bet she is. And here's where her vacation begins."

Esme turned to Dulcie, lifting his eyebrows:

"You go away with him?"

The idea had never before entered Barres's head. But he said:

"Certainly; we both need the country for a few weeks."

"You'll go to one of those damned artists' colonies, I suppose,"
remarked Esme; "otherwise, washed and unwashed would expel shrill
cries."

"Probably not in my own home," returned Barres, coolly. "I shall write
my family about it to-day."

Corot Mandel dropped in, also, that morning--he and Esme were ever
prowling uneasily around Dulcie in these days--and he studied the
Arethusa through a foggy monocle, and he loitered about Dulcie's
couch.

"You know," he said to Barres, "there's nothing like dancing to
recuperate from all this metropolitan pandemonium. If you like, I can
let Dulcie in on that thing I'm putting on at Northbrook."

"That's up to her," said Barres. "It's her vacation, and she can do
what she likes with it----"

Esme interposed with characteristic impudence:

"Barres imitates Manship with impunity; I'd like to have a plagiaristic
try at Sorolla and Zuloaga, if Dulcie says the word. Very agreeable