thought of
Philippe; and it was certainly well for the young American's peace of
mind that he did not know that Molly and Judy always spoke of Philippe
d'Ochte as "the Adonis."

"Mrs. Brady, your good, strong, hot tea has done wonders for me. I am
feeling so much better, I am going to take your advice and go for a long
walk and not sit over the fire any longer."

He accordingly unwound his long legs, put the little blue letter with
its health-giving postscript carefully in his breast pocket, (right over
the spot of the vanished pain!) and went for one of his fifteen-mile
tramps, humming sentimentally, "When the robins nest again, and the
flowers are in bloom."

Mrs. Brady looked after him and smilingly shook her head: "He may say
it's the tay, but there was some preschription in that bit o' blue
paaperr I was ahfter destroyin' that was the pain-killer this toime for
the poor young gintleman. Me prrivit opinion is that he, too, is
a-missin' the swate eyes o' Miss Molly Brown!"

Professor Edwin Green came home from his long walk in an excellent frame
of mind, happy and tired; but he was not too tired to write to Molly a
letter that somehow she forgot to read to her mother and Judy.

CHAPTER X.

BOHEMIA.

What fun it was to be moving to their own apartment! Mrs. Pace was the
only drawback to their happiness. She was very lugubrious and was sure
they would find the ground floor damp, although it was explained to her
that there was a good cellar under the studio and you went up several
steps to the entrance. For a week before they left her, she would emit
groans and shake her head sadly, saying: "I know it is a great mistake.
These artists are notoriously careless and the place will be filthy, I
haven't a doubt. And then the expense of keeping house is so great.
Never mind, I shall hold your rooms in readiness for you and you can
come back to them at any time."

"I beg you will do no such thing," said Mrs. Brown. "Of course we shall
stay in the studio for six months, as we have rented it for that time.
As for the dirt we are sure to find: you see Mrs. Bent is not an artist
and she has the cleanest rooms I have ever seen."

But nothing convinced Henrietta Pace. She only knew that she was not to
have the very pleasant boarders, so well connected, too, and so easy to
please and courteous. Of course she blamed it on that very pert Miss
Kean, who had defied her from the beginning; but what could one expect
fro