Then she told Bertie very solemnly that they were to begin a study of the philanthropies of a great city. But Bertie took her own view of the expedition; Truesdale's participation made it seem rather like an excursion into fairy-land. Now, more than ever, was she under the glamour of this young man's accomplishments; now, more than ever, did she feel the embellishing and decorative qualities of his presence. Not only had she heard the composer sing his own songs; she had lately seen him paint his own picture--and hers. "Why can't you do a little water-color or something of Bertie?" his aunt had suggested to him one day, upon encountering him in an attitude of graceful negligence before the exposition of his own pictures. "It would please her so much. Do you know"--lowering her voice as she looked towards the girl over her shoulder--"the dear child has been down here eight or ten times to see these things? Fancy how much it would please her to watch you actually at work--on a portrait of herself, too." Truesdale glanced sidewise towards Bertie, who stood in painstaking scrutiny before one of the outlying pictures of his group. A pair of art students in their careless working clothes, stood a little apart with their eyes on the same work. "Terrible knowing, ain't it?" remarked one. "Yep," rejoined the other; "awful lot of snap." "Just knocks it right out, doesn't it?" "Fearfully up to date, ain't it? Doesn't need any '1893' on it!" "Full of jump! Why can't we fellows here at home get more of that sort of thing?" Bertie's heart swelled proudly as she heard this jargon. It was quite unintelligible to her, but she felt sure it conveyed extreme approval. She turned to look at Truesdale just as he turned to look at her. He shook his head in burlesque deprecation of her too obvious appreciation, and then brought his attention back to his aunt. "All right," he said; "I'll do it. I'll come down some day and paint her, or you, or the front doors, or anything else you say." He pondered for a moment, as he edged away a little from Bertie, and tried to carry his aunt with him. "I suppose I shall be expected to look the part?" "Yes," she responded, sympathetically. "Bertie has never seen an artist, of course, but she has her ideas of how one would look. If it wouldn't be too much trouble for you to...." "Oh, I don't mind the trouble so very much," replied Truesdale, magnanimously. "I hope I can put myself out a little. She might look for a loose red tie, perhaps, and a Tam O'Shanter, eh?" "And a velvet coat," suggested his aunt, ardently. "Oh, bother a velvet coat; that's going a little _too_ far. She would be more likely to look for a palette and a maul-stick." "Why, certainly." "Yes, they use those things sometimes. I wonder if she would insist upon an easel?"