“What didn't I hear?” laughed her lover. “But I didn't do it but once or twice. I lost my head one day and began to argue the question of perspective with a couple of old codgers who were criticizing a bit of foreshortening that was my special pet. I forgot my goggles and sailed in. The game was up then, of course; and I never put them on again. But it was worth a farm to see their faces when I stood 'discovered' as the stage-folk say.” “Serves you right, sir--listening like that,” scolded Billy. Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it cured me, anyhow. I haven't done it since,” he declared. It was some time later, on the way home, that Bertram said: “It was gratifying, of course, Billy, and I liked it. It would be absurd to say I didn't like the many pleasant words of apparently sincere appreciation I heard to-night. But I couldn't help thinking of the next time--always the next time.” “The next time?” Billy's eyes were slightly puzzled. “That I exhibit, I mean. The Bohemian Ten hold their exhibition next month, you know. I shall show just one picture--the portrait of Miss Winthrop.” “Oh, Bertram!” “It'll be 'Oh, Bertram!' then, dear, if it isn't a success,” he sighed. “I don't believe you realize yet what that thing is going to mean for me.” “Well, I should think I might,” retorted Billy, a little tremulously, “after all I've heard about it. I should think _everybody_ knew you were doing it, Bertram. Actually, I'm not sure Marie's scrub-lady won't ask me some day how Mr. Bertram's picture is coming on!” “That's the dickens of it, in a way,” sighed Bertram, with a faint smile. “I am amazed--and a little frightened, I'll admit--at the universality of the interest. You see, the Winthrops have been pleased to spread it, for one reason or another, and of course many already know of the failures of Anderson and Fullam. That's why, if I should fail--” “But you aren't going to fail,” interposed the girl, resolutely. “No, I know I'm not. I only said 'if,'” fenced the man, his voice not quite steady. “There isn't going to be any 'if,'” settled Billy. “Now tell me, when is the exhibition?” “March twentieth--the private view. Mr. Winthrop is not only willing, but anxious, that I show it. I wasn't sure that he'd want me to--in an exhibition. But it seems he does. His daughter says he has every confidence in the portrait and wants everybody to see it.” “That's where he shows his good sense,” declared Billy. Then, with just a touch of constraint, she asked: “And how is the new, latest pose coming on?”