ence in textiles and other objects familiar to interior decorators.

"Now I propose going to work for him at a stated salary, and giving every
morning to the work, this year. In the afternoons I will be free to visit
Exhibitions, Museums, hunt up antiques, or just play. Four evenings every
week we will attend school and lectures, you know, so there will not be
very much time left in which to write letters."

"You never did work hard at writing letters," said Tom, smilingly.

"No, and this winter there will be even less time for them. My friends will
have to be satisfied with picture post-cards or telegrams," laughed Polly,
hoping that would answer all expected requests for a correspondence.

"Well," said Tom, "I only write to people I really want to hear from. And
I never ask anyone to write to me unless I take a great deal of pleasure
in reading their letters. I never asked you to correspond with me, have
I?"

"No-o, I think not," replied Polly, disconcerted at this announcement.
She had felt sure he was going to beg her to write as often as possible,
and now this was so different!

"I thought not! You see our likes and pursuits are so different. The very
difference in our ways of living now--you with luxurious art in New York,
me in the rugged life of a miner in the Rockies, creates a gulf between
our ideals. Mine is getting at gold that is the basis of most worldly
success, and yours is an ideal and aspiration in art that transcends my
common work and business. So we would not know what to say to each other
in letters, would we? You would not wish to speak of gold and mining, and
I haven't any idea of art or its ideals."

What it must have cost Tom to say all this, no one knows, but he was
piqued, at last, and so acted his part admirably; and he had the
satisfaction of seeing that Polly felt sorry at his words.

"Tom, I always felt sure you were an idealist at soul. It makes me feel a
deep regret to learn that you have no such ideals left."

Tom bid Polly good-by without an outward sign of regret, and so she sat
and pondered over that unusual fact, long after he had gone.

CHAPTER VI

POLLY AND ELEANOR BEGIN COLLECTING

Within a week after the westerners had gone back home, matters with Polly
and her friends in New York settled down in a smooth current. The Fabians
found a commodious house in a refined environment quite near the Ashby's
home, and the two girls, Polly and Eleanor, lived with them.