"Mrs. Wilcox, this is Miss Curtis, who will stay with us for a few days." As they greeted each other he added: "There is a story to tell, but we are late, and it can wait. Where is Elsie?" "Still at work. She never _would_ come to her meals if we didn't call her." "I'm disposed to try it some day. Will you take charge of Miss Curtis while I go fetch the delinquent?" Under Mrs. Wilcox's direction Jennie prepared for luncheon in an adjoining room, wondering still at the unexpected refinement of the furnishings, and curious to see the artist. As she re-entered the sitting-room a tall girl rose languidly to meet her, and Lawson said: "Miss Curtis, this is Miss Brisbane, the painter of the pictures you see about." Miss Brisbane bowed in silence, while Jennie cried out: "Oh! did you do them? I think they are beautiful!" The sincerity of her voice touched the young artist, and she said: "I'm glad you like them--sometimes I think they're pretty 'bum.'" A slang word on the red lips of the handsome girl seemed wofully out of place to Jennie, who stared at her with the eager curiosity of a child. She was slender and dark, with an exquisite chin, and her hands, though slim and white, were strong and capable. Her eyes were very dark, of a velvety brown-black, and her hair was abundant and negligently piled upon her small head. Altogether she had a stately and rather foreign presence, which made Jennie feel very dowdy and very commonplace. Mrs. Wilcox hurried them all out into the dining-room, where a pretty table was spread for six people. Jennie's attention was absorbed by the walls, which were also lightened with sketches of small, red babies in gay cradles, and of glowing bits of tawny plain and purple butte. "Did you do all of these beautiful things?" she asked. Lawson interposed. "She did, Miss Curtis. Be not deceived. Miss Brisbane's languid manner springs from her theory of rest. When work is finished she 'devitalizes'--I think that is the word--and becomes a rag. But she's a horrible example of industry, spineless as she now appears." Miss Brisbane remained quite unmoved by Lawson's words; smiling dreamily, her red lips, as serene as those of a child, softly shaped themselves to say: "The strung bow needs relaxation." "I think you are right," said Jennie, with sudden conviction. Elsie opened her eyes wide and murmured, "Thank you." Jennie went on: "Now my trouble is just that. I'm always nerved up. I can't relax. Won't you teach me how?" "With pleasure. Are you going to live here?" asked Elsie, with faint accession of interest. "As long as my brother does." "I suppose you've come to teach these ragamuffins?" Lawson here answered for Jennie. "Miss Curtis is a sister to Captain Curtis, who has come to displace your uncle." Miss Brisbane looked up blankly. "I don't understand." Lawson became explicit, and as she listened the girl's hands clinched. "How abominable!" she cried, with eyes aflame.