Miss Price’s lips were very red, and the clear freshness of extreme youth bloomed in her cheeks; she was certainly charming.  During one of Miss Snell’s rare pauses she spoke, and her thin high voice came with rather a shock from between her full lips.

“May I look?” was her unnecessary question, for her eyes had never left the canvas on the easel since they had first rested there.  She rose as she spoke, and went over to the painting.

The Painter pulled himself out of the cushions on the divan where he had been lounging, and went over to push the big canvas into a better light.  Then he stood, while the girl gazed at it, saying nothing, and apparently oblivious to everything but the work before him.

He was roused, not by Miss Price, who remained admiringly silent, but by the enraptured Miss Snell, who had also risen, gathering furs and wraps about her, and was now ecstatically voluble in her admiration.  English being insufficient for the occasion, she had to resort to French for the expression of her enthusiasm.

The Painter said nothing, but watched the younger girl, who turned away at last with a sigh of approbation.  He was standing under the window, leaning against a table littered with paints and brushes.

“Stay where you are!” exclaimed Miss Snell, excitedly.  “Is he not charming, Cora, in that half-light?  You must let me paint you just so some day—­you must indeed.”  She clutched Miss Price and turned her forcibly in his direction.

The Painter, confused by this unexpected onslaught, moved hastily away and busied himself with a pretence of clearing the table.

“I—­I should be delighted,” he stammered, in his embarrassment, and he caught Miss Price’s eye, in which he fancied a smile was lurking.

“But you have not given Miss Price a word of advice about her work,” said Miss Snell, as she fastened her wraps preparatory to departure.  She seemed quite oblivious to the fact that she had monopolized all the conversation herself.

He turned politely to Miss Price, who murmured something about Julian’s being so badly ventilated, but gave him no clew as to her particular branch of the profession.  Miss Snell, however, supplied all details.  It seemed Miss Price was sharing Miss Snell’s studio, having been sent over by the Lynxville, Massachusetts, Sumner Prize Fund, for which she had successfully competed, and which provided a meagre allowance for two years’ study abroad.

“She wants to paint heads,” said Miss Snell; and in reply to a remark about the great amount of study required to accomplish this desire, surprised him by saying, “Oh, she only wants to paint them well enough to teach, not well enough to sell.”

“I’ll drop in and see your work some afternoon,” promised the Painter, warmed by their evident intention of leaving; and he escorted them to the landing, warning them against the dangerous steepness of his stairway, which wound down in almost murky darkness.