Mr. Vane brought her a salver full of the dainties girls best love, and drawing up a table began to eat and talk in such a simple, comfortable way that Jessie could not feel shy, but was soon quite at her ease.  She knew that he was a famous artist, and longed to tell him about poor Laura, who admired his pictures so much and would have enjoyed every moment of this chance interview.  He was not a very young man, nor a handsome one, but he had a genial face, and the friendly manners which are so charming; and in ten minutes Jessie was chatting freely, quite unconscious that the artist was studying her in a mirror all the while.  They naturally talked of the children, and after praising the pretty dance Mr. Vane quietly added,—­

“I’ve been trying—­to find a face among them for a picture I’m doing; but the little dears are all too young, and I must look elsewhere for a model for my wood-nymph.”

“Are models hard to find?” asked Jessie, eating her ice with the relish of a girl who does not often taste it.

“What I want is very hard to find.  I can get plenty of beggar-girls, but this must be a refined face, young and blooming, but with poetry in it; and that does not come without a different training from any my usual models get.  It will be difficult to suit me, for I’m in a hurry and don’t know where to look,”—­which last sentence was not quite true, for the long glass showed him exactly what he wanted.

“I help Mademoiselle with her classes, and she has pupils of all ages; perhaps you could find some one there.”

Jessie looked so interested that the artist felt that he had begun well, and ventured a step further as he passed the cake-basket for the third time.

“You are very kind; but the trouble there is, that I fear none of the young ladies would consent to sit to me if I dared to ask them.  I will confide to you that I have seen a head which quite suits me; but I fear I cannot get it.  Give me your advice, please.  Should you think this pretty creature would be offended, if I made the request most respectfully?”

“No, indeed; I should think she would be proud to help with one of your pictures, sir.  My sister thinks they are very lovely; and we kept one of them when we had to sell all the rest,” said Jessie, in her eager, frank way.

“That was a beautiful compliment, and I am proud of it.  Please tell her so, with my thanks.  Which was it?”

“The woman’s head,—­the sad, sweet one people call a Madonna.  We call it Mother, and love it very much, for Laura says it is like our mother.  I never saw her, but my sister remembers the dear face very well.”

Jessie’s eyes dropped, as if tears were near; and Mr. Vane said, in a voice which showed he understood and shared her feeling,—­

“I am very glad that anything of mine has been a comfort to you.  I thought of my own mother when I painted that picture years ago; so you see you read it truly, and gave it the right name.  Now, about the other head; you think I may venture to propose the idea to its owner, do you?”