It seemed to Ruth that she was living a sort of double life, her hours among the art students were so separate from her life with the people at the house on Gramercy Square. And in a way she was not actually a part of either life. Among the students she felt a certain reticence, because they were most of them, at least the ones she had met, very obviously poor. They were paying their own way by working at things far removed from art. One of the girls painted stereopticon slides for illustrated songs, and some of the boys worked at night as waiters. They lived in studios and cooked their own meals, and Ruth was ashamed to let them know exactly where or how she lived. She heard their chatter of parties to which she had not been invited, and she could not control the feeling that she was inferior to these people because she had an assured income. The morning following the opening of Terry Riordan’s play Ruth had left the house without seeing Gloria, and the thought of her aunt as she had last seen her, was with her all morning. In the brief time between classes she was glad to join the group of students who always hurried to a little restaurant on Eighth Avenue for a bite of lunch, or a “bolt of lunch” as Nels Zord called it. Nels was a Norwegian, possibly twenty-five years old who spent every other year studying. He was supposed to have a great amount of talent and he sometimes sold things—seascapes mostly, small canvases of a delicacy that seemed incredible in view of his huge, thick hands. When he was not in New York, he went on long voyages as a sailor before the mast, where he satisfied his muscles with hard work and his soul with adventure and gathered material to be painted from half finished sketches and from memory when he returned to New York. He had gone to sea first as a boy of fifteen, from his home in Seattle and always chose sailing vessels from preference. He had two passions, art and food, and had never yet been known to give a girl anything but the most comradely attentions, which was, perhaps, why he was so much sought after by them. Ruth, Dorothy, and Nels walked together to the lunch room. All of the students were talking about the water colour show that was to open at the Academy the following Tuesday. On Monday evening there was to be a private view, and Nels Zord, by virtue of being an exhibitor was one of the few students who would be admitted. He was permitted one guest and had surprised every one by inviting Dorothy Winslow. She told the news to Ruth as they walked along. “I didn’t,” said Nels with what seemed to Ruth unnecessary rudeness. “You invited yourself, and I hadn’t asked any one else. Might as well take you as any one.” “Far be it from me to care how I get there,” said Dorothy with perfect good nature. “It’s a shame that Ruth can’t go too. You’ve never been to a private view at a big show like this, have you?” “No, and I’d love to go, but I suppose there’s no chance.”