sometimes. I'll have to stop looking at the thing. It'll
stay here while I go off to the country for a few weeks and, when I come
back, I'll have the right perspective again. But I know it's devilish
good. I feel as I did once at the _Salon_, when I got the _Mention
Honorable_ for that codfish and lobster on a marble table. You know, the
one Tilson bought. I knew it was right, as soon as I'd finished it."

Mutely, I committed him to the devil and all his fallen angels. What had
this picture to do with still-life in a fishmonger's shop? Hang it, I
really believe Gordon has no soul! Or can it be a part of the pose
inseparable from him, of which he certainly is sometimes unconscious?

At this moment, the bell rang and Yumasa came out of some cubby and
rushed to the outer door. Gordon followed him and warmly welcomed a
rather stout lady of uncertain age and very youthful hair, after which
he held out his hand to the original of Miss Van Rossum's portrait.

"The steamer was awfully early," explained the young lady, "but she
took forever to dock. Don't you think we were awfully good to come in
town on such a warm day? I could have played thirty-six holes, you know,
but, of course, we hadn't seen Dad for a long time. Mamma asked him to
come with us, but he said he'd have to run over to the Club. He'll join
us here at three."

"Let me see, he was gone four months, wasn't he?" said Gordon.

"Yes, something like that," answered the mother, holding up a
tortoise-shell lorgnette and looking at me.

"I want to introduce my friend, David Cole, Mrs. Van Rossum," hastened
Gordon. "Miss Van Rossum, David is my very best pal. He's the novelist,
you know."

"How very interesting!" clamored the young lady. "Gordon has given me
two of your books to read. Now that I have met you, I shall certainly
have to begin them. You see, there is so much to do in summer, Mr.
Cole."

"Indeed there is, Miss Van Rossum," I assented. "I hardly find time even
to look over the morning paper."

"Oh! Newspapers are such rubbish," she declared, airily.

"Why, Sophia!" cried Mrs. Van Rossum. "One of them had your picture last
week."

"It was rotten," said Miss Sophia, with some firmness.

"Oh, my dear! Why will you use such dreadful language?" the mother
reproved her.

"That's all right, Ma, every one says it now."

Miss Van Rossum, having thus established the status of her vocabulary,
at least to her own satisfaction, took a few steps across the