hrew down his brushes. "I know exactly
what it's like," he said impatiently. "A very good department-store
conception of a studio. It's one of the show places."

"Well, it's gorgeous, and he said I could bring you to see him. The boys
tell me he's awfully kind about giving people a lift, and you might get
something out of it."

Hedger started up and pushed his canvas out of the way. "What could I
possibly get from Burton Ives? He's almost the worst painter in the
world; the stupidest, I mean."

Eden was annoyed. Burton Ives had been very nice to her and had begged
her to sit for him. "You must admit that he's a very successful one,"
she said coldly.

"Of course he is! Anybody can be successful who will do that sort of
thing. I wouldn't paint his pictures for all the money in New York."

"Well, I saw a lot of them, and I think they are beautiful."

Hedger bowed stiffly.

"What's the use of being a great painter if nobody knows about you?" Eden
went on persuasively. "Why don't you paint the kind of pictures people
can understand, and then, after you're successful, do whatever you like?"

"As I look at it," said Hedger brusquely, "I am successful."

Eden glanced about. "Well, I don't see any evidences of it," she said,
biting her lip. "He has a Japanese servant and a wine cellar, and keeps a
riding horse."

Hedger melted a little. "My dear, I have the most expensive luxury in the
world, and I am much more extravagant than Burton Ives, for I work to
please nobody but myself."

"You mean you could make money and don't? That you don't try to get a
public?"

"Exactly. A public only wants what has been done over and over. I'm
painting for painters,--who haven't been born."

"What would you do if I brought Mr. Ives down here to see your things?"

"Well, for God's sake, don't! Before he left I'd probably tell him what I
thought of him."

Eden rose. "I give you up. You know very well there's only one kind of
success that's real."

"Yes, but it's not the kind you mean. So you've been thinking me a scrub
painter, who needs a helping hand from some fashionable studio man? What
the devil have you had anything to do with me for, then?"

"There's no use talking to you," said Eden walking slowly toward the
door. "I've been trying to pull wires for you all afternoon, and this is
what it comes to." She had expected that the tidings of a prospective
call from the great man would be received very differently, and had bee