at friend of Mrs. Brendon's."

"Are you going to paint her, Jerry?"

"Probably. I begin on Mrs. Brendon's portrait very soon, and several
other commissions will follow, I think."

"I told you that they would get you, that crowd."

"Don't worry, Bobs. This is my opportunity and I am going to grab it."

"Good luck, Jerry. Morituri Salutamus."

"Don't be a bally ass, Bobs. I've got to have a tea for the dear ladies
next week. Will you and Jinny take charge?"

"Yes, if I can get down the hall to your door. I'm all in bits to-day."

"We'll manage it. Friday is the day."

"Going to have Jane?"

"Of course. How could any one have a party without Jane?"

"Doesn't it complicate it somewhat that she appeared in the pageant as
one of them, as it were? Wouldn't it make the dear souls mad to find her
acting as waitress at your party? They'd treat her like a dog."

"I hadn't thought of that. Would she understand, though, if I left her
out?"

"She'll understand. I'll keep her here for the day, on some pretext."

So it appeared that, whether she would or not, there had come a change
over her standing in the artist group. When Friday came, and Jerry's
party was in progress, she sat darning in Bobs's room, thinking it
over. She was not indignant at the situation; rather, it amused her. A
knock came at the door. When she opened it, Martin Christiansen stood
there.

"I want to see Miss Roberts," he began. "It is you, Miss Judd," he added
delightedly.

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Christiansen. Mr. Paxton is having a tea, and Miss
Roberts is pouring it."

"I thought she was still invalided."

"She is better."

"But are you not going to the tea of Mr. Paxton?"

"No."

"May I come in?"

"Yes, of course."

She admitted him, and when he was seated, she went on with her darning.

"I did not suppose I should find you so soon. This is my lucky day,
Friday."

She smiled at him.

"Do you live here?"

"No."

"What are you doing, may I ask?"

"I am darning the stockings of Miss Katrina Roberts."

"Why does she not darn her own?"

"It is incompatible with the artistic temperament," laughed Jane.

"Humph, I am not so sure. What do you think of the artistic
temperament?"

"I think it's a good excuse for egotists."

Christiansen's big laugh boomed forth.

"That's my own idea, too. Selfishness, bad temper, irresponsibility, all
piled up at the door, with that label. Do these folk interest you?"

"Yes. They are very