A. was by no means a position to be despised, and if Bee's fancy
lay that way, why----! a shrug of its white shoulders, an elevation of
its pencilled eyebrows, and Society went on its way.
Leslie Hamilton had taken up his position near the door that he might
easily acknowledge each new arrival. He was leaning over the fair Bee
Vandaleur, watching the animation in her beautiful face, the grace with
which she wore her large picture-hat, and the regal manner in which she
sat. He glanced at the gay throng that filled his rooms, growing gayer
still as the tinkle of tiny silver spoons increased in number and
volume; there was not one to compare with Bee, _his_ Bee as he dared, in
his own mind, to call her already. Gentle, dignified, graceful, always
sweet and gracious to him, and with an ample fortune of her own, it was
no wonder the artist felt that she was worth the winning.
"How I should enjoy a peep at your model!" she was saying as she looked
at a rough sketch he was showing her. "Was she as beautiful as you have
made her?"
"She was tolerably----" Hamilton hesitated. "Well, of course an artist's
business is to make the most of good points, and omit the bad. She was a
little rough and troublesome sometimes, but, on the whole, not a bad
sitter."
"And her name?" asked Miss Vandaleur.
"Her name? oh, Mary, or Biddy, or Eily Joyce; really I cannot be sure;
every one in that part of the world is either Eily or Biddy, and Joyce
is the surname of half the population.
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