ays speaks of you in a proprietary way, you know. And then
she considers that she owes you some kind of obedience and allegiance
and devotion. I remember last week I said to her: 'You can go now. Come
again Friday.' But she said: 'I don't think I can come on Friday. Billie
Hawker is home now, and he may want me then.' Said I: 'The devil take
Billie Hawker! He hasn't engaged you for Friday, has he? Well, then, I
engage you now.' But she shook her head. No, she couldn't come on
Friday. Billie Hawker was home, and he might want her any day. 'Well,
then,' said I, 'you have my permission to do as you please, since you
are resolved upon it anyway. Go to your Billie Hawker.' Did you need her
on Friday?"

"No," said Hawker.

"Well, then, the minx, I shall scold her. Stunning figure--stunning! It
was only last week that old Charley Master said to me mournfully:
'There are no more good models. Great Scott! not a one.' 'You're 'way
off, my boy,' I said; 'there is one good model,' and then I named your
girl. I mean the girl who claims to be yours."

"Poor little beggar!" said Hollanden.

"Who?" said Pontiac.

"Florinda," answered Hollanden. "I suppose----"

Pontiac interrupted. "Oh, of course, it is too bad. Everything is too
bad. My dear sir, nothing is so much to be regretted as the universe.
But this Florinda is such a sturdy young soul! The world is against her,
but, bless your heart, she is equal to the battle. She is strong in the
manner of a little child. Why, you don't know her. She----"

"I know her very well."

"Well, perhaps you do, but for my part I think you don't appreciate her
formidable character and stunning figure--stunning!"

"Damn it!" said Hawker to his coffee cup, which he had accidentally
overturned.

"Well," resumed Pontiac, "she is a stunning model, and I think, Mr.
Hawker, you are to be envied."

"Eh?" said Hawker.

"I wish I could inspire my models with such obedience and devotion. Then
I would not be obliged to rail at them for being late, and have to
badger them for not showing up at all. She has a beautiful
figure--beautiful."

CHAPTER XXIX.

When Hawker went again to the house of the great window he looked first
at the colossal chandelier, and, perceiving that it had not moved, he
smiled in a certain friendly and familiar way.

"It must be a fine thing," said the girl dreamily. "I always feel
envious of that sort of life."

"What sort of life?"

"Why--I don't know exact