She looked taller and longer than ever swathed in a blue painting-apron and grasping her palette and brushes. She had to apologize for not shaking hands with him, because her fingers were covered with paint that had been hastily but ineffectually wiped off on a rag before she answered his knock. He murmured something about not coming before because of his work, but she would not let him finish, saying, intensely, "We know how precious every minute is to you." Miss Price came reluctantly forward and shook hands; she had evidently not been painting, for her fingers were quite clean. Short ragged hair once more fell over her forehead, and the Painter felt a shock of disappointment, and wondered why he had thought her so fine when she passed him in the morning. "I was just going to paint Cora," announced Miss Snell. "She is taking a holiday this afternoon, and we were hunting for a pose when you knocked." "Don't let me interrupt you," he said, smiling. "Perhaps I can help." Miss Snell was in a flutter at once, and protested that she should be almost afraid to work while he was there. "In that case I shall leave at once," he said; but his chair was comfortable, and he made no motion to go. "What a queer little place it is!" he reflected, as he looked about. "All sorts of odds and ends stuck about helter-skelter, and the house-keeping things trying to masquerade as bric-à-brac." Cora Price looked decidedly sulky when she realized that the Painter intended to stay, and seeing this he became rooted in his intention. He wondered why she took this particular attitude towards him, and concluded she was piqued because of his delay in calling. She acted like a spoiled child, and caused Miss Snell, who was overcome by his condescension in staying, no little embarrassment. It was quite evident from her behavior that Miss Price was impressed with her own importance as the beneficiary of the Lynxville Prize Fund, and would require the greatest deference from her acquaintances in consequence. "Here, Cora, try this," said Miss Snell, planting a small three-legged stool on a rickety model-stand. "Might I make a suggestion?" said the Painter, coolly. "I should push back all the hair on her forehead; it gives a finer line." "Why, of course!" said Miss Snell. "I wonder we never thought of that before. Cora dear, you are much better with your hair back." Cora said nothing, but the Botticelli profile glowered ominously against a background of sage-green which Miss Snell was elaborately draping behind it. "If I might advise again," the Painter said, "I would take that down and paint her quite simply against the gray wall." Miss Snell was quite willing to adopt every suggestion. She produced her materials and a fresh canvas, and began making a careful drawing, which, as it progressed, filled the Painter's soul with awe. "I feel awfully like trying it myself," he said, after watching her for a few moments. "Can I have a bit of canvas?"