“Oh, my art is all useful,” sighed Joyce.  “I used to dream of great things to come, but I’ve come down to earth now—­practical designing.  Magazine covers and book plates and illustrating.  I can do things like that and it is work I love, and work that pays.  Of course I’d rather do Madonnas than posters, but since the pot must boil I am glad there are book-covers to be done.  And some day—­well, I may not always have to stay tied to the earth.  My wings are growing, in the shape of a callow bank account.  When it is full-fledged, then I shall take to my dreams again.  Already Henry and I are talking of a flight abroad together, to study and paint.  In two years more I can make it, if all goes well.”

The striking of a clock made her glance up, exclaiming over the lateness of the hour.  “Phil,” she asked, “would you mind telephoning down to the station to find out if that Washington train is on time?  That’s a good boy.  That little sister of mine will think the sky has fallen if I’m not at the station to meet her.”

“You don’t mean to tell me that Mary is on her way here,” exclaimed Phil, as he rose to do her bidding.  “Then I certainly have something to live for.  Her first impressions of New York will be worth hearing.”  He scanned the pages of the telephone directory for the number he wanted.

“Yes, she and Betty are to spend their vacation with me.  We are going out to Eugenia’s to-morrow afternoon to spend Christmas eve and part of Christmas day.”

“Then that was the surprise that Eugenia wrote about,” said Phil, taking out his watch.  “She wouldn’t tell what it was, but said that it would be worth my while to come.  Yes, the train is on time.”

He hung up the receiver.  “I won’t be able to wait for it, if I get out to Eugenia’s for dinner, but I can see you safely to the station on my way.  It is about time we were starting if you expect to reach it.”

Joyce made a final dab at her picture, dropped the brush and hurried into the next room for her wraps.  It seemed to Phil that he had scarcely turned around till she was back again, hatted and gloved.  The artist in the long apron had given place to a stylish tailor-made girl in a brown street-suit.  Phil looked down at her approvingly as they stepped out into the wintry air together.

The great show windows were ablaze with lights by this time, and the rush of the crowds almost took her off her feet.  Phil at her elbow piloted her along to a corner where they were to take a car.

“I’m glad that I happened along to take you under my wing,” he said.  “You ought not to be out alone on the streets at night.”

“It isn’t six o’clock yet,” she answered.  “And this is the first time that I had no escort arranged for.  Mrs. Boyd always comes with me.  She’s little and meek, but her white hair counts for a lot.  She would have gone to the station with me, but she and Lucy are dining out.  We girls will be all alone to-night.  I wish they were not expecting you out at Eugenia’s to dinner.  I’d take you back with me.  I have prepared quite a company spread, things that you especially like.”