in his pockets,
and critical appreciation in his eyes. "You could not very well mistake
it. Heads are not my exact forte, you know; but that is Mollie to a tint
and a curve, and I am rather proud of it."

Chandos regarded it steadfastly.

"And well you may be," he answered. "Your sister, I believe?"

"Mollie!" exclaimed Phil, stepping a trifle aside, to get into a better
light, and speaking almost abstractedly. "Oh, yes, to be sure! She is my
sister,--the youngest. There are three of them. That flesh tint is one
of the best points."

And in the meantime, while this apparently trivial conversation was
being carried on in the studio, Mollie, in the parlor, had settled
herself upon a stool close to the fire, and, resting her chin on her
hand and her elbow on her knee, was looking' reflective.

"That Chandos is somebody new," 'Toinette remarked. "I hope he has come
to buy something. I want some gold sleeve-loops for Tod. I saw some
beauties the other day, when I was out."

"But you could n't afford them if Phil sold two pictures instead of
one," said Aimee. "There are so many other useful things you need."

"He is n't a stranger to me," put in Mollie, suddenly. "I have seen him
before."

"Who?" said 'Toinette. She was thinking more of Tod's gold sleeve-loops
than of anything else.

"This Mr. Chandos," answered Mollie, without looking up from the fire.
"I saw him at Brabazon Lodge the night I went to take Dol her dress. He
was with Mr. Gowan, and I dropped my glove, and he picked it up for me.
I was coming out as they were going in."

"I wonder," said Aimee, "whether Mr. Gowan goes to Brabazon Lodge
often?"

"I don't know, I 'm sure," answered Mollie, shrugging her shoulder.
"How is one to learn? He would n't be likely to tell us. I should think,
though, that he does. He is too fond of Dolly"--with a slight choke in
her voice--"to stay away, if he can help it."

"It's queer," commented 'Toinette, "how men like Dolly. She is n't a
beauty, I 'm sure; and for the matter of that, when her hair is n't done
up right, she is n't even pretty."

"It isn't queer, at all," said Mollie, rather crossly; "it's her way.
She can make such a deal out of nothing, and she does n't stand at
trouble when she wants to _make_ people like her. _She_ says any one can
do it, and it is only a question of patience; but I don't believe her.
See how frantic Griffith is about her. He is more desperately in love
with her to-day than he was