there through the inevitable neglect of the past sad days. This had been her father’s favourite model. He had liked it on account of a certain worldliness of expression—a touch of the old Eve, he had been wont to say—which the others lacked! and so henceforth Clytie would possess an added attraction, a new interest for her born of pure sentiment.

When she had arranged the room to her satisfaction she set about writing out her advertisement, no very lengthy matter, for she had thought about it so continually of late that she knew exactly how to word it. She had come to the conclusion that it would be better not to let people know that she was just starting, so expressed herself in a noncommittal sort of way as follows:—“Miss Erskine’s Art School will re-open on January 15th. Classes, Tuesdays and Fridays 9:30 to 12:30 p.m., and 2:30—4:30 p.m., Geometry Classes every Wednesday evening from 7:30 to 9 o’clock.” Then followed the address and date, and the advertisement was completed and ready to appear. So far everything was easy, but Jill herself felt by no means sanguine of results. For one thing the locality was not very desirable, and the Art School commanded what many people in house hunting insist upon, a lofty situation, but in the latter instance, of course, it has nothing to do with stairs. Miss Erskine’s establishment was four storeys high, and the shape of the ceiling hinted unkindly at being in close communication with the slates. Would anybody who was able to pay for tuition be willing to climb those stairs twice a week, narrow and steep, and dark enough to be dangerous, not to mention the dust, which the obscurity hid, but which one’s olfactory organ detected unmistakably as one wended one’s way wearily up or down? No, it did not seem very probable, and yet it was just possible enough to leave a margin of hope in her otherwise despondent reasoning.

The next day, Jill had the sorry satisfaction of seeing her advertisement in print. It was stuck away in a corner of one of the least important columns, and did not look very imposing, but it occasioned her a little thrill of pride all the same, and gave her fresh heart to return to work, though she had endeavoured to sell a small canvas that morning for a proportionally small sum and had failed, a fact, considering the state of her exchequer, not conducive to great exhilaration.

Fortunately, the rent was settled for the next six months, and she had still some funds in hand, and after that—well, something would turn up. For the sake of economy Jill sat at work with a jacket on and her back turned towards the empty grate, but the weather was 

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