Philippa belonged to the eternal art student class; that class which subsists on very little talent and no income; the class which includes girls who would be better employed in domestic service, as well as those whom a genuine “feeling” for art has rendered unfit for any other occupation than that of painfully striving to express themselves--generally in vain. Though a member of this great sisterhood, by the possession of various rather exceptional gifts, Philippa had managed to deviate from its normal routine of monotony. She had beauty, and a mind wide enough to hold vague aspirations, as well as a useful shrewdness. Long ago she had made two discoveries. First, that seventy pounds a year is a totally inadequate income. Secondly, that infrequent work is not the best means of supplementing it. There are other ways, and Philippa had tried most of them. There had been romantic friendships with women of property. Philippa had always been drawn to these ladies by soul-affinity--it was here that the vagueness of her mind stood her in good stead--but that fact did not lessen their balance at the bank, nor the tangible advantage which it bestowed on Philippa. With one lady, she had travelled in Italy and Greece. Another had paid for her course of instruction in enamelling, and considered herself blest in being allowed the privilege. A third had, till lately, paid the rent of her studio. Philippa accepted these benefits with a beautiful simplicity. No one better than she could gracefully bear an obligation. She had the rare art not only of making the benefactor feel privileged but of herself believing it to be the case. With such a mixture of approbation and transient tenderness for the giver, might an angel regard the devotee who has shielded him from “beating in the void his luminous wings in vain.” But feminine friendships are proverbially evanescent, and though the proverb may contain as much truth as other conventional maxims, Philippa had certainly found them “disappointing.” She had frequently to lament the jealousy of one, the pettiness of another, the terrible coarseness of fibre of a third. And though women are numerous, their incomes are usually small, and to be disappointed in one dear friend with money is a calamity. She is not easily replaced. Philippa was not only deeply disappointed in Miss Wetherby, the lady who for two years previous had ensured the rent of her studio; she was also considerably worried. Their quarrel had been upon a very delicate matter--a matter of money; and Miss Wetherby had taken a low but decided view upon a transaction which Philippa was accustomed to slur over in thought. An episode followed upon which, again, she refused to dwell, except at intervals when she received a little note which she hastened to put into the fire. She had that very morning burned one of these letters, but, however unwillingly, she was now obliged to consider its contents.