a
liberal education.

Mr. Garafield was a shrewd business-man, although fanciful in taste. He
should be the gainer by associating this true artist with him.
Decorative art was coming to be a truly recognized branch; and its
leaders and apostles would reap not only credit, but financial success.

Fred was amazed. Only yesterday, it seemed, he had well-nigh been
refused the privilege of earning his bread. To-day, in an unexpected
quarter, prosperity opened upon him.

"I have no capital, as you well know," he said stammeringly to Mr.
Garafield.

Garafield smiled and nodded in a satisfied manner.

"The brain-work and the ideas are sufficient capital, Mr. Lawrence. By
this partnership you will be free of drudgery: some other clerk can keep
books and take orders for us. You will gain time for your literary
labors, and those in turn will carry weight in the business. Neither do
I think you will regret taking my offer."

Fred went down to Jack Darcy's that evening, and told over his plans, as
in other years he had confessed his college ambitions and the laurels he
was to win. And Jack's face lighted up with honest enthusiasm, while his
voice took on a curious little tremble. He was so glad! for Sylvie's
sake and love's sake.

CHAPTER XXII.

WHEN Fred Lawrence came next day into Sylvie Barry's presence, there was
a certain proud humility shining in his handsome face, that was now
quite worn and thin; a dignity born of honor in having achieved at least
a standing-place in the world. He was not her hero, never had been
indeed; and his pale face flushed at the remembrance of his once
complacent claim to her regard.

She was sitting in the room with his mother, but she sprang up from the
low ottoman.

"I am so glad! your mother has been telling me the news. Why, it is"--

She had held out her hands as she began her sentence, but as he took
them she made a sudden pause. His were icy cold.

"More than I could have expected in such a brief while, hardly at all.
Both offers have surprised me greatly."

He strove so hard to render his tone calm, that it was absolutely cold.

She turned with a petulant but charming gesture, while her peachy cheek
took on a riper tint.

"You are not a bit enthusiastic," in that pretty, imperious, chiding
tone. "I suppose you think good fortune ought to fall down upon you, be
thrust on you, like greatness."

"No. I am very thankful for it. I can give my mother and sister some