"Well, I should judge you might divide up your affections on those two without any serious confliction of sentiments." "You are mistaken, though; I do not care for Evelin March at all, now. I am sorry I ever met her. I shall stop this foolish flirtation with her, at once." "Quite likely. And when does Evelin come again?" "To-morrow, perhaps." "So; well, I'll just drop in to-morrow evening for the latest. Evelin seems to be a trifle outclassed just at present." "Harry, you are unkind. I tell you I love that innocent girl on the easel there and mean to marry her." "Oh, of course; I haven't the least doubt of it. And now, what about the resemblance?" "Why, look! do you see their hair? The shade of each is exactly the same--the same silkiness and glow through it; it is very peculiar. And notice the ear; the outline and formation of each is identical. You may not have noticed these things as I have, but it is very rare that the ear is anatomically the same in two people. There is a similarity, too, about the oval of the face, although less marked and not unusual; and there is a faint suggestion of something else, which I feel but cannot locate. I noticed these things, and they struck me at once as being a tie of kinship. I hinted, in a miserably awkward manner, as to relatives who might be having their portraits painted. It was then she told me that she had no relatives, and I believe started to tell me she had no friends, but she hesitated and was near bursting into tears. From that moment I loved her; I shall love her always." "Charming, Julian. And yet I fancy she is not wholly alone in the world. A beautiful and affluent maiden is not calculated to be friendless; and you will admit that one who is able to gratify a passing impulse for one of Julian Paul Goetze's justly celebrated portraits is not likely to be destitute. Still, I will allow that there are cases, even among the wealthy, that are not entirely undeserving of sympathy; and, if I may judge from this incipient work of your magic brush, I think I should be willing to lavish any amount of that article on its original. However, you haven't told me her name as yet; I trust it is not disappointing." "I do not even know it myself. She gave me her card; I laid it down and haven't thought of it since." "Well, really, if your love is no greater than your curiosity, your case does not present any very alarming features, as yet." The artist had approached a small table in the center of the room, from which he now picked up a slip of white pasteboard and held it to the light, then he started a little and was silent. "Well?" said his friend, inquiringly; "is it Mary Mullally or Nancy Muggins?" The artist turned to the table again and selected another card, somewhat larger, from a little silver tray; then he returned to Lawton and held them before him, one above the other, like the pictures. On the lower one, written in a bold, dashing hand, were the words: EVELIN MARCH.