“Oh, I don’t know; I think the final break came because of Eros— Isn’t that the bell? Do run and tell Terry that I’ll be with him in a minute. I wonder why he will persist in always being on time?” It was Terry. He was trying to engage the dignified George in conversation. “Hello—you look as if you’d been reading fairy tales,” he exclaimed. “No, just talking to Gloria,” said Ruth. “She’ll be down in a few minutes.” “It must have been an exciting conversation from the size of your young eyes.” “We were talking,” said Ruth, “we were talking about—about Eros.” “The God of Love?” asked Terry. “If you will pardon me,” said George, “Eros is also the name of a small planet discovered in our solar system in the year 1898.” Completing which amazing piece of information, George silently departed, leaving the two staring after him. CHAPTER V Ruth had intended asking permission to have Dorothy and Nels to dinner on the night of the private view, but if she did that they would learn that her aunt was Gloria Mayfield and there was every chance that Nels would refer to that fact in talking to Professor Pendragon, for Ruth had already discovered that the art students were ardent celebrity seekers and Gloria Mayfield, though she had not appeared on any stage for three seasons, was still something of a celebrity. She compromised by eating an early dinner with Dorothy at the little restaurant on Eighth Avenue, at least Dorothy called it dinner, though it was eaten at tea time and both girls were too excited to care what they ate. Then they went home to dress. It was the first time that Ruth had taken any one of the students to her house and she wondered just how she would avoid telling Dorothy about her aunt. George opened the door for them and they went on up to Ruth’s room without seeing any one else, though Ruth could hear voices from the drawing-room. “This doesn’t look like a rooming house,” said Dorothy. “It isn’t. I live here with friends. What do you think of my work room?” “Great!—warm, too. There isn’t any heat where I live and I have to use a little oil stove, but it’s expensive. You know I don’t think much of that—one might as well be frank—” She was looking at the canvas Ruth had on her easel. “Nels and I were talking about it yesterday. We think you ought to follow up the cartoon thing. You know they make a lot of money, cartoonists. You could take it up seriously, you know—” “But I don’t want to take it up seriously. I don’t want to be a cartoonist. I want to be a landscape painter, and if you will allow me to be frank, too, I don’t think that you are in a position to judge whether I have talent or not.”