knew what to do with, powerless to aid him, prevented from flinging open her check book and bidding him to write and write till he could write no more.
A memory–a thought crept in. Where had she heard his name connected with her father's name? In Ophir Steel? Certainly; and was it not this young man's father who had laid the foundation for her father's fortune? She had heard some such thing, somewhere.
He said: "I had no idea of boring anybody–you least of all–with my woes. Indeed, I haven't any sorrows now, because to-day I received my first encouragement; and no doubt I'll be a huge success. Only–I thought it best to make it clear why it would do me considerable damage just now if you should write."
"Tell me," she said tremulously, "is there anything–anything I can do to–to balance the deep debt of gratitude I owe you–"
"What debt?" he asked, astonished. "Oh! that? Why, that is no debt– except that I was happy–perfectly and serenely happy to have had that chance to–to hear your voice–"
"You were brave," she said hastily. "You may make as light of it as you please, but I know."
"So do I," he laughed, enchanted with the rising color in her cheeks.
"No, you don't; you don't know how I felt–how afraid I was to show how deeply–deeply I felt. I felt it so deeply that I did not even tell my sisters," she added naively.
"Your sisters?"
"Yes; you know them." And as he remained silent she said: "Do you not know who I am? Do you not even know my name?"
He shook his head, laughing.
"I'd have given all I had to know; but, of course, I could not ask the servants!"
Surprise, disappointment, hurt pride that he had had no desire to know gave quick place to a comprehension that set a little thrill tingling her from head to foot. His restraint was the nicest homage ever rendered her; she saw that instantly; and the straight look she gave him out of her clear eyes took his breath away for a second.
"Do you remember Sacharissa?" she asked.
"I do–certainly! I always thought–"
"What?" she said, smiling.
He muttered something about eyes and white skin and a trick of the heavy lids.
She was perfectly at ease now; she leaned back in her chair, studying him calmly.
"Suppose," she said, "people could see me here now."
"It would end your artistic career," he replied, laughing; "and fancy! I took you for the sort that painted for a bare existence!"
"And I–I took you for–"
"Something very different than what I am."
"In one way–not in others."
"Oh! I look the mountebank?"
"I shall not explain what I mean," she said with heightened color, and rose from her chair. "As there are no more green mice to peep out at me from behind my easel," she added, "I can have no excuse from abandoning art any longer. Can I?"
The trailing sweetness of the inquiry was scarcely a challenge, yet he dared take it up.
"You asked me," he said, "whether you could do anything for me."
"Can I?" she exclaimed.
"Yes."
"I will–I am glad–tell me what to do?"
"Why, it's only this. I've got to go before an audience of two hundred people and do things. I've had practice here by myself, but–but if you don't mind I should like to try it before somebody–you. Do you mind?"
She stood there, slim, blue-eyed, reflecting; then innocently: "If I've compromised myself the damage was done long ago, wasn't it? They're going to take away my studio anyhow, so I might as well have as much pleasure as I can."
And she sat down, gracefully, linking her white fingers over her knees.
IV
AN IDEAL IDOL
He began by suddenly filling the air with canary birds; they flew and chirped and fluttered about her head, until, bewildered, she shrank back, almost frightened at the golden hurricane.
To reassure her he began doing incredible things with the big silver hoops, forming chains and linked figures under her amazed eyes, although each hoop seemed solid and without a break in its polished circumference. Then, one by one, he tossed the rings up and they vanished in mid-air before her very eyes.
"How did you do that?" she cried, enchanted.
He laughed and produced the big, white Persian cats, changed them into kittens, then into birds and butterflies, and finally into a bowl full of big, staring goldfish. Then he picked up a ladle, dipped out the fish, carefully fried them over an electric lamp, dumped them from the smoking frying pan back into the water, where they quietly swam off again, goggling their eyes in astonishment.
"That," said the girl, excitedly, "is miraculous!"
"Isn't it?" he said, delighted as a boy at her praise. "What card will you choose?"
And he handed her a pack.
"The ace of hearts, if you please."
"Draw it from the pack."
"Any card?" she inquired. "Oh! how on earth did you make me draw the ace of hearts?"
"Hold it tightly," he warned her.
She clutched it in her pretty fingers.
"Are you sure you hold it?" he asked.
"Perfectly."
"Look!"
She looked and found that it was the queen of diamonds she held so tightly; but, looking again to reassure herself, she was astonished to find that the card was the jack of clubs. "Tear it up," he said. She tore it into small pieces.
"Throw them into the air!"
She obeyed, and almost cried out to see them take fire in mid-air and float away in ashy flakes.
Face flushed, eyes brilliant, she turned to him, hanging on his every movement, every expression.
Before her rapt eyes the multicolored mice danced jigs on slack wires, then were carefully rolled up into little balls of paper which immediately began to swell until each was as big as a football. These burst open, and out of each football of white paper came kittens, turtles, snakes, chickens, ducks, and finally two white rabbits with silly pink eyes that began gravely waltzing round and round the room.
"Please stand up and shake your skirts," he said.
She rose hastily and obeyed; a rain of silver coins fell, then gold, then banknotes, littering the floor. Then precious stones began to drop about her; she shook them from her hair, her collar, her neck; she clenched her hands in nervous amazement, but inside each tight little fist she felt something, and opening her fingers she fairly showered the floor with diamonds.
"Can't you save one for me?" he asked. "I really need it." But when again she looked for the glittering heap at her feet, it was gone; and, search as she might, not one coin, not one gem remained.
Glancing up in dismay she found herself in a perfect storm of white butterflies–no, they were red–no, green!
"Is there anything in this world you desire?" he asked her.
"A–a glass of water–"
She was already holding it in her hands, and she cried out in amazement, spilling the brimming glass; but no water fell, only a rain of little crimson flames.
"I can't–can't drink this–can I?" she faltered.
"With perfect safety," he smiled, and she tasted it.
"Taste it again," he said.
She tried it; it was lemonade.
"Again."
It was ginger ale.
"Once