He gave her a commission then and there for a heart to heart talk with a gentleman whom the editor of the Home News Department of the Daily Dispatch would have referred to as a “Leading Literary Luminary,” and who had just invented a new world in two volumes. She had asked him childish questions and had listened with wide-open eyes while he, sitting over against her, and smiling benevolently, had laid bare to her all the seeming intricacies of creation, and had explained to her in simple language the necessary alterations and improvements he was hoping to bring about in human nature. He had the sensation that his hair must be standing on end the next morning after having read in cold print what he had said. Expanding oneself before the admiring gaze of innocent simplicity and addressing the easily amused ear of an unsympathetic public are not the same thing. He ought to have thought of that. “I like the houses, too,” he said. “There’s a character about them. You don’t often find such fine drawing-rooms in London.”!

“I thought you were something,” answered the girl. “I’m an artist. Or, rather, was,” she added after a pause. “Yes,” he answered. “And take her with me. Poor little girl.”

“What do you mean by got to do it?” exclaimed Miss Ensor. “Who’s making him do it, except himself?” “Woman’s right to follow the dictates of her own heart, uncontrolled by any law,” the Human Document was insisting: “That is one of the first things we must fight for.” The lonely woman touched her lightly on the hand. There shot a pleading look from the old stern eyes.