his kneaded clay; and pretty women walked in it with almost the same calm consciousness of power which Phryne displayed before her judges.  The girl who now entered Farnham’s library had thrown her shawl over one arm, because the shawl was neither especially ornamental nor new, and she could not afford to let it conceal her dress of which she was innocently proud; for it represented not only her beautiful figure with few reserves, but also her skill and taste and labor.  She had cut the pattern out of an illustrated newspaper, had fashioned and sewed it with her own hands; she knew that it fitted her almost as well as her own skin; and although the material was cheap and rather flimsy, the style was very nearly the same as that worn the same day on the Boulevard of the Italians.  Her costume was completed by a pair of eyeglasses with steel rims, which looked odd on her rosy young face.

“I didn’t send in my name,” she began with a hurried and nervous utterance, which she was evidently trying to make easy and dashing. “because you did not know me from Adam——­I have been trying to see you for some time,” she continued.

“It has been my loss that you have not succeeded.  Allow me to give you a chair.”

She flushed and seemed not at all comfortable.  This grave young man could not be laughing at her; of course not; she was good-looking and had on a new dress; but she felt all her customary assurance leaving her, and was annoyed.  She tried to call up an easy and gay demeanor, but the effort was not entirely successful.  She said, “I called this morning—­it may surprise you to receive a visit from a young lady——­”

“I am too much pleased to leave room for surprise.”

She looked sharply at him to see if she were being derided, but through her glasses she perceived no derision in his smile.  He was saying to himself, “This is a very beautiful girl who wants to beg or to borrow.  I wonder whether it is for herself or for some ‘Committee’?  The longer she talks the more I shall have to give.  But I do not believe she is near-sighted.”

She plucked up her courage and said: 

“My name is Miss Maud Matchin.”

Farnham bowed, and rejoined: 

“My name is——­”

She laughed outright, and said: 

“I know well enough what your name is, or why should I have come here?  Everybody knows the elegant Mr. Farnham.”

The smile faded from his face.  “She is more ill-bred than I suspected,” he thought; “we will condense this interview.”

He made no reply to her compliment, but looked steadily at her, waiting to hear what she wanted, and thinking it was a pity she was so vulgar, for she looked like the huntress Diana.

Her eyes fell under his glance, which was not at all reassuring.  She said in almost a humble tone: 

“I have come to ask a great favor of you.  I am in a good deal of trouble.”

“Let us see what it is, and what we can do,” said Farnham, and there was no longer any banter in his voice.