nymphs and winged elves, but there were three landscapes. One of these, a
stream reflecting a high spring sky between banks of young meadow grass,
showed a little faun skipping merrily in the distance. The atmosphere was
indescribably light-hearted. Mary smiled as she looked at it. The other
two were empty of figures; they were delicately graceful and alluring,
but there was something lacking in them---what, she could not tell. She
liked best a sketch of a baby boy, lost amid trees, behind which wood-
nymphs and fauns peeped at him, roguish and inquisitive. The boy was
seated on the ground, fat and solemn, with round, tear-wet eyes. He was
so lonely that Mary wanted to hug him; instead, she kissed Stefan.

"What a duck of a baby, dearest!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, he was a nice kid--belonged to my concierge," he answered
carelessly. "The picture is sentimental, though. This is better," and he
pointed to another mermaid study.

"Yes, it's splendid," she answered, instinctively suppressing a sigh. She
began to realize a little what a strange being she had married. With an
impulsive need of protection she held him close, hiding her face in his
neck. The reality of his arms reassured her.

That day they decided, at Mary's urging, to take the smaller studio at
once, abandoning the extravagance of hotel life. In practical manners she
was already assuming a leadership which he was glad to follow. She
suggested that in the morning he should take his smaller canvases, and
try some of the less important dealers, while she made an expedition in
search of necessary furniture. To this he eagerly agreed.

"It seems horrible to let you do it alone, but it would be sacrilegious