“Not at all! I was delighted to be able to make such good use of it. Have you seen Alice Schille’s children or Mary Cassatt’s charming pastel? The women artists are rather outshining the men this year. If Nels can break away from his own work we’ll go and see them. Then there’s John Sloan and Steinlen, and a Breckenridge thing with wonderful colour.” He led them off, smiling down with a funny little stooping movement of his head that in a smaller man might have been described as birdlike. He seemed to know every one and was continually being stopped by men and women who wanted his opinion about this or that piece of work. Ruth tried hard to look at the pictures, but her mind was continually wandering to the people and especially to Professor Pendragon. Dorothy noticed this. “Don’t try to look at things tonight. None of us ever do. The people are too funny. The dragon seems to be on intimate terms with all of them,” she whispered. “Nels tells me that he’s a great swell with ever so much money. I wish you could mention that I paint portraits. If I could get him to sit it would be a start. You mention portraits and I’ll do the rest.” Much embarrassed and in great fear that Dorothy’s whispers would be overheard, Ruth tried to make an opportunity for mentioning that Dorothy painted portraits. Professor Pendragon himself made it. “What sort of work are you doing, Miss Mayfield?” he asked. “Nothing now, I’m just a student, but I hope to do landscapes. Dorothy is to be a great portrait painter.” “You know I’d love to paint you, Professor Pendragon. You have such an interesting face—you have really,” she ended as Nels laughed. “Some day when I have lots of time—and thank you for saying that my face is interesting! Or perhaps I can do even better and get some beautiful woman to sit for you. Wouldn’t you like that?” “No; I’d rather have you,” said Dorothy, raising her large blue eyes with ingenuous confidence. “There’s a very interesting picture in the ‘morgue,’ by a new artist of course, that I’d like to have you see, Nels.” He broke off, for Nels had been drawn away by some fellow students and Dorothy had followed him, leaving him alone with Ruth. “Never mind; perhaps you’ll be interested, Miss Mayfield.” Ruth thought she detected the faintest trace of hesitancy in his voice whenever he pronounced her name. “Is New York your home?” he asked. “It is now. I came from Indiana, but my mother died a few months ago and I am living with friends here.” “How sad; you have no relatives then?” “No.” His eyes were searching her face and she felt that he must see that she was lying. “Do you paint?” she asked.