"Do you not! Now, I should enjoy it above all things. But since I am not apt to have that honor I should enjoy following in your wake and taking all the glories second-hand. I should be sure to get a little of the honor reflected on me, for though I am not the rose, you know I have lived near it." Leslie Dane looked up with a quizzical smile. "Confess now, Carl," he said, "that nothing will content you but to get away and spend the gold you have earned. All your flattery and sophistry leads to this--that you are wild for a companion to aid and abet you in spending the money that is burning a hole in your pocket this minute." "Somehow the gold does seem to burn through my pockets," said Carl, reflectively. "But, tra, la, what is it good for but to buy pleasure?" He began to hum a few bars of a German song with a gay refrain. "Come, come, get to your work," exclaimed the other. "Your signal success with your last work should stimulate you to renewed efforts." "So it will," affirmed Carl; "but not to-day. I feel so giddy over my good news that I could not work to-day. I should hardly know how to mix my colors. I feel as lazy, shiftless and good-natured as the Italian lazzaroni out in the sunshine." Leslie Dane gave a little sigh as he looked at his happy companion. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle the gay current of his good nature. His temperament was an enviable one. "Carl, did you ever have a sweetheart?" Leslie asked curiously. "Sweethearts--yes, a score of them," laughed Carl. "More Gretchens, Madchens, and Anitas than you could count on your fingers. Why do you ask?" "Only for curiosity. I thought you could not be so care-free and joyous if love had ever come into your life." "That is according to how we look at love," said the German; "with you it is all a solemn epic or tragedy. With me it would be a pretty little poem or a happy song." Leslie sighed but did not answer. "Come, now," said the German, "we have wandered from our subject. Give up your selfishness this once, Leslie, and take a holiday. Come with me to Paris next week." Leslie stood silently meditating, and Carl saw that the battle was almost won. "Don't hesitate," said he, pushing his advantage. "Indeed you work too hard, my boy. There is no need of it since you have forsworn marriage. Take a breathing spell and come with me to Paris and paint old Mrs. Carlyle's portrait." Leslie frowned slightly at the words. "Pray do not mention those people again," he said, in an irritated tone. "Perhaps I will accompany you to Paris; but I have no fancy to paint the portrait of a wrinkled old woman." CHAPTER XXV. "Confound the impudence of such fellows!" said Colonel Carlyle, fretfully, as he entered his wife's morning-room. It was a charming apartment with hangings of pale blue satin that made a perfect foil to the pearl-fair beauty of Bonnibel.