There did indeed come from the cobbles of Patchin Place the whir and snort of an automobile. Soon the great gong on the wall clanged viciously, causing Arthura Lewis to shudder and clasp her long, white hands to her eyes. Edwin Marmaduke sped down the four flights of stairs that intervened between his studio and the street door. His deserted guests looked at one another expectantly. “Dear Grace!” said Mrs. Anna Watkins Wilbur. “I hope she came alone. I can’t stand that friend of hers--what is his name?--that Watson person.” “He is a terrible bromid,” said Arthura Lewis, lighting a cigarette. “He’s so very--so very, shall I say, salmony!” This was said with humorous intent and received with kindly laughter. “But what has Mr. Watson to do with salmon, anyway?” asked John Potts. “Does he catch them, or what is it?” “Nothing so exciting as that,” said the Rev. Morris Gildell, with a great chuckle. “He merely celebrates them. He is the advertising manager of the Mallon Salmon Company, and his chief claim to immortality is that he invented the ‘Try a Tin To-day’ slogan. You know those great pink pictures of ridiculous-looking fish that we see in public vehicles and on the highways and byways, each one holding out a can bearing the legend, ‘Try a Tin To-day’? Watson is responsible for those mutilations of the landscape.” “Does Watson paint them himself?” asked Mrs. Anna Watkins Wilbur. “He looks capable of it.” The Rev. Morris Gildell issued another of those shouts of laughter which made the women’s clubs believe him masculine and hearty. “Excellent!” he cried, putting an approving hand on Mrs. Anna Watkins Wilbur’s fat, bare shoulder. “Oh, excellent! No, Watson doesn’t paint them, but he does worse--he inspires them. He persuades some poor devil of an artist to make these hideous caricatures of the truth. He is the Mæcenas of the ‘Try a Tin To-day’ school of painting.” After waiting for the murmur of amusement to die down, the Rev. Morris Gildell continued: “Grace brought Watson to the Feminist Conference at our church last week, and several people asked me what a rare, free spirit like her could see in such a clod. I suppose she feels that she must go around with him occasionally because he is so useful to her father. But I hope she doesn’t think of marrying him!” “Marrying him!” exclaimed Mrs. Anna Watkins Wilbur, Arthura Lewis, and John Potts in unison. “I hope not!” “Why,” said Arthura Lewis, “it would be a tragedy for an emancipated woman like Grace to marry at all! Not to speak of marrying such a soulless, brainless animal as that David Watson! I’d as soon see her--” But the conversation was interrupted by the opening of the studio door and the entrance of Grace and their young host.