er studio all the next morning, all the
afternoon and evening. She has a good deal of just this artistic
faculty. The next day she copies and colors, and on the third Floyd
goes to New York, and she drives to the factory. Eugene is out, as fate
will have it.

Mr. Wilmarth receives her with just the right touch of graciousness,
praises a little, finds a little fault, suggests a touch here and
there, and admits that he is pleased with two, and thinks he shall use
them. Marcia goes up to the seventh heaven of delight, and sees before
her fame and fortune.

"Look over these," says Mr. Wilmarth. "They do not quite suit me. See
if you can suggest anything. These Japanese designs admit of endless
variation."

An hour passes ere Marcia consults her watch, and then she professes to
be greatly surprised. What must poor Dolly think of her? "For I never
make such unconscionable calls," she declares, and fancies that she
blushes over it.

"It has been extremely pleasant to me," Mr. Wilmarth replies, in a tone
of grave compliment. "I am so much alone. I miss your father more than
any of you would suspect, I dare say. We used to consult together so
much, and he was in and out a dozen times a day."

"But everything goes on _well_?" says Marcia, in an undecided tone of
inquiry.

"Yes, if by that you mean prosperously. We are on the high road to
fortune," and he laughs disagreeably. "I only wish your father were
alive to enjoy it. It has been a hard pull for the last two years."

"Poor papa!" Marcia gives a pathetic little sniff. "But then it is
something to have gained a success!"

"Yes, when one has friends or relatives to enjoy it. I sometimes wonder
why _I_ go on struggling for wealth, to leave it to some charity at the
last."

"Have you really no one?" Marcia lowers her voice to a point of
sentiment.

"Not a living soul to take a kindly interest in me," he answers, in a
bitter fashion. "All my kith and kin, and they were not many, died
years ago. If I had been attractive to women's eyes----"

Marcia lets hers droop, and does this time manage a faint color. There
is a touch of romance in this utter desolation.

"I _must_ go," she again declares, reluctantly. "Poor Dolly will be
tired to death standing."

"Take these with you, and I shall be sure of another visit," and he
hands her the roll.

Marcia glides along as if on air. To her any admiration from a man is
sweet incense. It is not so much the person as the foo