of them want the work of an American. Old masters, or well known
foreigners, they say. I explained my success at the Beaux Arts. Two of
them had seen my name in the Paris papers, but said it would mean nothing
to their clients. Hopeless Philistines, all of them! I do believe I
should have had a better chance if I'd called myself Austrian, instead of
American, and I only revived my American citizenship because I thought it
would be an asset!" He laughed, ironically. "They advised me to have a
one-man show, late in the winter, so as to get publicity."

"So we will then," interposed Mary confidently.

"Good Lord, child," he exclaimed, half irritably, "you don't suppose I
could have a gallery for nothing, do you? God knows what it would cost.
Besides, I haven't enough pictures--and think of the frames!" He sat up,
fretfully.

She saw his nerves were on edge, and quickly offered a diversion.
"Stefan," she cried, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms back with
a gesture the grace of which did not escape him even in his impatient
mood, "I haven't even seen the pictures yet, you know, and can't wait any
longer. Let me look at them now, and then I'll tell you just how idiotic
those dealers were!" and she gave her bell-like laugh. "I'll undo them."
Her fingers were busy at the knots.

"I hate the sight of that roll," said Stefan, frowning. "Still--" and he
jumped up, "I do immensely want you to see them. I know _you'll_
understand them." Suddenly he was all eagerness again. He took the
canvases from her, undid them and, casting aside the smaller ones, spread
the two largest against the wall, propping their corners adroitly with
chairs, an umbrella, and a walking stick. "Don't look yet," he called