"Perhaps you wouldn't mind coming up to the studio." William laughed shyly. "I call it that, although of course it isn't a studio really. And I only call it that to myself you know," he added naïvely.
"Then why did you call it 'the studio' to me?" archly demanded Woman in the person of the niece of S. Gedge Antiques.
"I don't know why, I'm sure. It was silly."
"No, it wasn't," said Woman. "Rather nice of you, I think."
The simpleton flushed to the roots of his thick and waving chestnut hair which was brushed back from a high forehead in a most becoming manner; and then with rare presence of mind, in order to give his confusion a chance, he showed the way up the two flights of stairs which led direct to June's attic. Next to it, with only a thin wall dividing them, was a kind of extension of her own private cubicle, a fairly large and well lit room, which its occupant had immodestly called "a studio." A bed, a washing stand, and a chest of drawers were tucked away in a far corner, as if they didn't belong.
"The master lets me have this all to myself for the sake of the light," said the young man in a happy voice as he threw open the door. "One needs a good light to work by."
With the air of a Leonardo receiving a lady of the Colonnas he ushered her in.
A feminine eye embraced all at a glance. The walls of bare whitewash bathed in the glories of an autumn sunset, the clean skylight, the two easels with rather dilapidated objects upon them, a litter of tools and can-
