"One would hardly fancy it, from the way you talk of Peter Calvin and
his followers."

"Oh, as to that," retorted the artist, "don't you see that judicious
opposition increases my market value when I am ready to sell? If I
could only be sufficiently prominent in my antagonism, I might
absolutely fix my own price."

The lady made no answer, but regarded him more intently than ever.

"That's a good thing," he broke out again, holding up a drawing. "Why
don't you do that in marble, or better still, in bronze?"

"I am putting it up in clay," she answered. "I thought I had shown it
to you. It is to be fired as my first experiment in a big piece of
terra-cotta. That is the first sketch; I think I have improved upon
it."

It was the study for a bas-relief representing the months, twelve
characteristic figures running forward with the utmost speed. Gifts
dropped from their hands as they ran; from the fingers of June fell
flowers, from those of August and September ripened fruits, upon which
November and December trampled ruthlessly. January, in his haste,
overturned an altar against which February stumbles.

"It is melancholy enough," Fenton observed, regarding it closely. "How
melancholy every thing is now-a-days?"

"To a man about to be married?" she asked, with a fine smile.