Slipping quietly away, the girl almost ran into the grim and wan lounger, no longer so grim and several degrees less wan, as he rounded the opposite curve of the circle and passed out on the street in front of her. The next instant Cyrus shot by her at a long-legged gallop and caught the man by the shoulder. “Here! Wait! Not nine o'clock,” he cried breathlessly. “I forgot. I've got an engagement, a--very important business engagement.” The other's jaw dropped. “What the--” he began, when there appeared before them both a trim and twinkling vision of femininity. “I'm glad I saw you,” said the vision to Cyrus, “because I shan't want you until ten-thirty to-morrow.” Then she passed on, so deep in thought that she hardly responded to the greetings which accosted her on all sides. “I don't understand it at _all_” she murmured. Promptly upon the morrow's hour Cyrus appeared at the studio, rumpled and mussed as usual. “How do you do?” the artist greeted him. “Before we go to work I want you to meet Fluff.” Cyrus glanced at the kitten, who was chasing a phantom mouse up the swaying curtain. “I already know Fluff,” said he. “Oh, no, you don't,” she corrected gently. “That is, Fluff doesn't know you. She doesn't know that you are alive. Fluff is a person of fine distinctions. Come here, Mischief.” The kitten gave over the chase, after one last lightning swipe, and trotted across the room. “Fluff,” said her mistress, “this is our friend, Cyrus.” The kitten purred and nosed Cyrus's foot. “Thank you,” said the young man gratefully. “I also am not wholly insensible to fine distinctions. Fluff, do you know how those ancient barbarian parties looked and acted when they were called 'friend of the state of Rome'? Well, regard me.” His employer twinkled at him with her eyes. “I've sold you,” she remarked. “At a good price?” “Yes. You were really very good.” “It would have been kind to let me see myself before you bartered me away into eternal captivity.” “Kinder not.” “You mean I shouldn't have liked your idea of me?” “Didn't I say that it was _good?_” she returned with composed pride. “My idea of you wouldn't be good, as modeling. This is the real _you_, the man underneath.” “That's worse. You think I oughtn't to like myself as I am.” She looked up at him with intimate and sympathetic friendliness. “Well, _do_ you?” was all she said. “Whether I do or not, it's pretty evident what you think of me.” “It ought to be. I've introduced you to Fluff. One can't be too careful as to whom one introduces to one's young and guileless daughter.” “Thank you.” For the first time in their acquaintance he smiled. The smile changed his face luminously. She tossed the tiny iron with which she was working into the far corner of the studio. “That settles it,” she said. “I'm through.” “For the day?”