ess envelope, addressed in an
unfamiliar hand, which might one day appear there! It would be half a
second before she should take in the meaning of it. Then would come a
premonitory thrill, instantly justified by a glance at the upper
left-hand corner of the envelope, where the name of some great
periodical would seem literally blazoned forth, however small the
type in which it was printed. And then,--oh, then! the tearing open of
the envelope, the unfolding of the sheet with trembling fingers, the
check! Would it be for $10 or $15 or even $25, and might there be a
word of editorial praise or admonition? Foolish, foolish dreams! And
there was that hideous parcel, which she was getting to hate the very
sight of! As she squeezed a long rope of burnt-sienna upon her
palette, she made up her mind that she would wait a week before
exposing herself to another disappointment. Perhaps the Student would
improve with keeping, like violins and old masters. Certainly if he
was anything like his prototype he needed maturing.

Meanwhile the model's mouth was proving as troublesome to paint as
Eleanor's had been, and as Madge grew more and more perplexed with the
problem of it she thought of the miniature with a fresh pang. For she
had lost it! Three days ago it had somehow slipped from her
possession. Had she left it lying on the table in the Public Library?
Nobody there had seen anything of it. But on the very day of her loss
she had been at the Library, examining the current numbers of all the
illustrated papers, in the hope of gleaning some hint as to editorial
tastes. She remembered reading Eleanor's last letter there, the letter
in which her friend had written that she was to have two years more of
Paris. She had read the letter through twice, and then she had taken
out the miniature and had a good look at it. To think of Eleanor,
having two more years of Paris! And it had all come about so simply!
She had merely persuaded her cousin, Mr. Hicks, to advance a few
hundred dollars till she should be of age and at liberty to sell a
bond.

"There isn't anybody that believes in me," Madge had told herself; and
then she had thought of something that Mr. Salome had said to her a
few days ago, something that she would have considered it very
unbecoming to repeat, even to Eleanor, but the memory of which, thus
suddenly recalled, had filled her with such hopefulness that she had
sped homeward to the mahogany table almost with a convictio