field；　wearing　a　square…　cut　beard；　straight…out　mustaches　with　needle…points；　and　funny　shoes　with　square　toes。　How　the　girl　had　been　disposed　to　laugh　at　him　until　he　had　told　her　stories　of　the　wonderful　cities　beyond　the　sea　and　of　his　life　among　the　painters　and　sculptors；　then　she　showed　him　her　own　drawings；　searching　his　face　anxiously　with　her　big　eyes。　How　he　had　been　so　astounded　and　charmed　by　their　delicacy　and　truth；　that　he　had　pleaded　with　her　fatheran　obstinate　old　Puritanto　send　her　to　New　York　to　study；　which　the　old　man　refused　point…blank　to　do；　only　giving　his　consent　at　the　last　when　her　brother　John；　who　had　been　graduated　from　Dartmouth　　and　knew　something　of　the　outside　world；　had　joined　his　voice　to　that　of　her　mother　and　her　own。　How　when　she　at　last　entered　the　class…room　of　the　Academy　the　students　had　looked　askance　at　her；　the　usual　talk　had　ceased；　and　for　a　time　there　had　been　an　uncomfortable　restraint　everywhere；　until　the　men　found　her　laughing　quietly　at　their　whispered　　jokes　about　her。　After　that　the　〃red…headed　girl　in　blue　gingham；〃　as　she　was　called；　had　become；　by　virtue　of　that　spirit　of　camaraderie　which　a　common　　pursuit　develops；　〃one　of　us〃　in　spirit　as　well　as　in　occupation。
  Fred　had　described　it　all　to　Oliver；　and　every　night　when　Oliver　came　in　from　the　hall；　his　eyes　had　wandered　over　the　group　of　students　in　the　hope　of　seeing　the　strange　person。　A　girl　studying　art；　or　anything　else　for　that　matter；　seemed　to　him　to　be　as　incongruous　as　for　a　boy　to　learn　dress…making　or　for　a　woman　to　open　a　barber…shop。　He　knew　her　type；　he　said　to　himself：　she　would　be　thin　and　awkward；　　with　an　aggressive　voice　that　would　jar　on　the　stillness　of　the　room。　And　she　would　believe　in　the　doctrines　of　Elizabeth　Cady　Stantona　name　never　mentioned　by　his　mother　except　apologetically　and　in　a　low　voiceand　when　she　became　older　she　would　address　meetings　and　become　conspicuous　in　church　and　have　her　name　printed　in　the　daily　papers。
  Our　hero's　mind　was　intent　upon　these　phases　of　character　always　to　be　found；　of　course；　in　a　girl　who　would　unsex　herself　to　the　extent　that　Miss　Grant　had　done；　when　one　night　a　rich；　full；　well…modulated　voice　sounding　over　his　shoulder　said：
  〃Excuse　me；　but　Mother　Mulligan　tells　me　that　you　are　Mr。　Horn；　Fred　Stone's　friend。　I　want　to　thank　you　for　taking　care　of　my　poor　Juno。　It　was　very　good　of　you。　I　am　Margaret　Grant。〃
  She　had　approached　him　without　his　seeing　her。　He　turned　quickly　to　accost　her　and　immediately　lost　so　much　of　his　breath　that　he　could　only　stammer　his　thanks；　and　the　hope　that　Juno　still　enjoyed　the　best　of　health。　But　the　deep…brown　eyes　did　not　waver　after　acknowledging　his　reply；　nor　did　the　smile　about　the　mouth　relax。
  〃And　I'm　so　glad　you've　come　at　last；〃　she　went　on。　〃Fred　has　told　me　how　you　wanted　to　draw　and　couldn't。　I　know　something　myself　of　what　it　is　to　hunger　after　a　thing　and　not　get　it。〃
  He　was　on　his　feet　now；　the　bit　of　charcoal　still　between　his　fingers；　his　shirt…cuff　rolled　back　to　give　his　hand　more　freedom。　His　senses　were　coming　back；　too；　and　there　was　buoyancy　as　well　as　youth　in　his　face。
  〃Yes；　I　do　love　it；〃　said　Oliver；　and　his　eyes　wandered　over　her　wonderful　hair　that　looked　like　brown　gold　illumined　by　slants　of　sunshine；　and　then　rested　for　an　instant　on　her　eyes。　〃I　drew　with　old　Mr。　Crocker　at　home；　but　we　only　had　one　cast；　just　the　head　of　the　Milo；　and　I　was　the　only　pupil。　Here　everything　helps　me。　What　are　you　at　work　on；　Miss　Grant？〃
  〃I'm　doing　the　Milo；　too；　my　seat　is　right　in　front　of　yours。　Oh！　what　a　good　beginning；〃　and　she　bent　over　his　drawing…board。　〃Why；　this　can't　be　your　first　week；〃　and　she　scanned　it　closely。　〃One　minutea　little　too　full　under　the　chin；　isn't　it？〃　She　picked　up　a　piece　of　chalk；　and　pointed　to　the　shaded　lines；　looking　first　with　half…closed　eyes　at　the　full…sized　cast　before　them；　and　then　at　the　drawing。
  〃Yes；　I　think　you're　right；〃　said　Oliver；　studying　the　cast　also　with　half…closed　eyes。　〃How　will　that　do？〃　and　he　smudged　the　shadow　with　his　finger…tip。
  〃Just　right；〃　she　answered。　〃How　well　you　have　the　character　of　the　face。　Isn't　she　lovely！I　know　of　nothing　so　beautiful。　There　is　such　a　queenly；　womanly；　self…poised　simplicity　about　her。〃
  Oliver　thought　so　too；　and　said　so　with　his　eyes；　only　it　was　of　a　face　framed　in　brown…gold　that　he　was　thinking　and　not　of　one　of　white　plaster。　He　was　touched　too　by　the　delicate　way　in　which　she　had　commended　his　drawings。　It　was　the　〃woman〃　in　her　that　pleased　him；　just　as　it　had　been　in　Suethat　subtle；　dominating　influence　which　our　fine　gentleman　　could　never　resist。
  He　shifted　his　stool　a　little　to　one　side　so　that　he　could　see　her　the　better　unobserved　while　she　was　　arranging　her　seat　and　propping　up　her　board。　He　noticed　that；　although　her　face　was　tanned　by　the　weather；　her　head　was　set　on　a　neck　of　singular　whiteness。　　Underneath；　where　the　back　hair　was　tucked　up；　his　eye　caught　some　delicate　filmy　curls　which　softened　the　line　between　her　throat　and　head　and　shone　in　the　light　like　threads　of　gold。　The　shoulders　　sloped　and　the　whole　fulness　of　her　figure　tapered　　to　a　waist　firmly　held　by　a　leather　belt。　A　wholesome　girl；　he　thought　to　himself；　and　good　to　look　at；　and　with　a　certain　rhythmic　grace　about　her　movements。
  Her　crowning　glory；　though；　was　her　hair；　which　was　parted　over　her　forehead　and　caught　in　a　simple　twist　behind。　As　the　light　fell　upon　it　he　observed　again　how　full　it　was　of　varying　tones　like　those　found　in　the　crinklings　of　a　satin　gownyellow…gold　one　minute　and　dark　brown　the　next。　Oliver　wondered　　how　long　this　marvellous　hair　might　be；　and　whether　it　would　reach　to　the　floor　if　it　should　burst　its　fastenings　and　whether　Sir　Peter　Lely　would　have　loved　it　too　could　he　have　seen　this　flood　of　gold　bathing　　her　brow　and　shoulders。
  He　found　it　delightful　to　work　within　a　few　feet　of　her；　silent　as　they　had　to　be；　for　much　talking　was　discountenanced　by　the　professor：　often　hours　passed　without　any　sound　being　heard　in　the　room　but　that　of　the　scraping　of　the　chairs　on　the　bare　floor　or　the　shifting　of　an　easel。
  Two　or　three　times　during　the　evening　the　old　professor　　emerged　from　his　room　and　overlooked　his　drawing；　patiently　pointing　out　the　defects　and　as　patiently　correcting　them。　He　was　evidently　impressed　with　Oliver's　progress；　for　he　remarked　to　Miss　Grant；　in　a　low　voice：
  〃The　new　student　draws　wellhe　is　doing　first…　rate；〃　and　passed　on。　Oliver　caught　the　expression　of　satisfaction　on　the　professor's　face　and　interpreted　　it　as　in　some　way　applying　to　his　work；　although　　he　did　not　catch　the　words。
  The　old　man　rarely　had　to　criticise　Margaret's　work。　The　suggestions　made　to　her　came　oftener　from　the　students　than　from　the　professor　himself　or　any　one　of　the　visiting　critics。　In　these　criticisms；　not　only　of　her　own　work　but　of　the　others；　everyone　　took　part；　each　leaving　his　stool　and　helping　in　the　discussion；　when　the　work　of　the　night　was　over。　Fred's　more　correct　eye；　for　instance；　would　be　invaluable　　to　Jack　Bedford；　the　ex…sign…painter；　who　was　struggling　with　the　profile　of　the　Gladiator；　or　Margaret；　who　could　detect　at　a　glance　the　faintest　departure　from　the　lines　of　the　original；　would　shorten　a　curve　on　Oliver's　drawing；　or　he　in　turn　would　advise　her　about　the　depth　of　a　shadow　or　the　spot　for　a　high　light。
  As　the　nights　went　by　and　Oliver　studied　her　the　closer；　the　New　England　girl　became　all　the　more　inexplicable　to　him。　She　was；　he　could　not　but　admit；　　like　no　other　woman　he　had　ever　met；　certainly　not　in　his　present　surroundings。　She　really　seemed　to　belong　to　some　fabled　raceone　of　the　Amazons；　or　Rhine　maidens；　or　Norse　queens　for　whom　knights　couched　their　lances。　It　was　useless　to　compare　　her　to　any　one　of　the　girls　about　Kennedy　Square；　for　she　had　nothing　in　common　with　any　one　of　them。　Was　it　because　she　was　unhappy　among　her　own　people　that　she　had　thus　exiled　herself　from　her　home；　or　had　some　love…affair　blighted　her　life？　Or　could　it　be；　as　Fred　had　suggested；　that　she　was　willing　to　undergo　all　these　discomforts　and　privations　　simply　for　love　of　her　art？　As　this　possible　solution　of　the　vexing　problem　became　established　in　his　mind；　with　the　vision　of　Margaret　herself　before　　him；　the　blood　mounted　to　his　cheeks　and　an　uncontrollable　　thrill　of　enthusiasm　swept　over　him。　He　could　forgive　her　anything　if　this　last　motive　had　really　controlled　and　shaped　her　life。
  Had　he　seen　the　more　closely　and　with　prophetic　vision；　he　would　have　discerned；　in　this　Norse　queen　with　the　golden　hair；　the　mother　of　a　long　line　of　daughters；　who；　in　the　days　to　follow；　would　hang　their　triumphant　shields　beside　those　of　their　brothers；　winning　equal　recognition　in　salon　and　gallery　　and　conferring　equal　honor　on　their　country。　But　Oliver's　vision　was　no　keener　than　that　of　anyone　　else　about　him。　It　was　only　the　turn　of　Margaret's　　head　that　caught　the　young　student's　eye　and　the　wealth　of　her　brown…gold　hair。　With　the　future　he　had　no　concern。
  What　attracted　him　most　of　all　in　this　woman　who　had　violated　all　the　known　traditions　of　Kennedy　Square；　was　a　certain　fearlessness　of　manneran　　independence；　a　perfect　ingenuous