The Superintendent of the department, from whom she received her work, was a man of middle-age, of rather stern and forbidding aspect; and as she approached his desk, he pointed to the clock on the mantel-piece.

“Barely time to submit those types for inspection, and have them packed for the express going East.  They are birthday gifts, and birthdays have an awkward habit of arriving rigidly on time.”

He unrolled the tissue paper, and with a magnifying glass, carefully examined the pictures; then took from an envelope in the box, two short pieces of hair, which he compared with the painted heads before him.

“Beautifully done.  The lace on that child’s dress would bear even a stronger lens than my glass.  Here Patterson, take this box, and letter to Mr. Endicott, and if satisfactory, carry them to the packing counter.  Shipping address is in the letter.  Hurry up, my lad.  Sit down, Miss Brentano.”

“Thank you, I am not tired.  Mr. Mansfield, have you any good news for me?”

“You mean those etchings; or the designs for the Christmas cards?  Have not heard a word, pro or con.  Guess no news is good news; for I notice ‘rejected’ work generally travels fast, to roost at home.”

“I thought the awards were made last week, and that to-day you could tell me the result.”

“The awards have been made, I presume, but who owns the lucky cards is the secret that has not yet transpired.  You young people have no respect for red tape, and methodical business routine.  You want to clap spurs on fate, and make her lower her own last record?  ’Bide awee.  Bide awee’.”

“Winning this prize means so much to me, that I confess I find it very hard to be patient.  Success would save me from a painful and expensive journey, upon which I must start to-night; and therefore I hoped so earnestly that I might receive good tidings to-day.  I am obliged to go South on an errand, which will necessitate an absence of several days, and if you should have any news for me, keep it until I call again.  If unfavorable it would depress my mother, and therefore I prefer you should not write, as of course she will open any letters addressed to me.  Please save all the work you can for me, and I will come here as soon as I get back home.”

“Very well.  Any message, Patterson?”

“Mr. Endicott said, ‘All right; first-rate;’ and ordered them shipped.”

“Here is your money, Miss Brentano.  Better call as early as you can, as I guess there will be a lot of photographs ready in a few days.  Good afternoon.”

“Thank you.  Good-bye, sir.”

From the handful of small change, she selected some pennies which she slipped inside of her glove, and dropping the remainder into her pocket, left the building, and walked on toward Union Square.  Absorbed in grave reflections, and oppressed by some vague foreboding of impending ill, dim, intangible and unlocalized—­she moved slowly along the crowded sidewalk—­unconscious of the curious glances directed toward her superb form, and stately graceful carriage, which more than one person turned and looked back to admire, wondering when she had stepped down from some sacred Panathenaic Frieze.