ers；　and　even　scientists；　　when　they　have　anything　to　sell；　go　where　there　is　somebody　to　buy；　why　shouldn't　an　artist？〃
  〃Just　like　a　fakir　peddling　cheap　jewelry；〃　said　Stedman；　in　a　low　voice；　sending　a　cloud　of　smoke　to　the　ceiling。
  〃Or　a　bunco…man　trading　watches　with　a　farmer；〃　remarked　Jack　Bedford。　〃What　do　you　say；　My　Lord　Tom…Noddy〃and　he　slapped　Oliver　on　the　back。　The　sobriquet　was　one　of　Jack's　pet　names　for　Oliverall　the　Kennedy　Square　people　were　more　or　less　aristocrats　to　Jack　Bedford；　the　sign…painter　all　except　Oliver。
  〃I　think　Waller's　about　half…right；　Jack。　As　far　as　Ridgway's　work　goes；　you　know　and　I　know　that　there　isn't　one　man　or　woman　out　of　a　hundred　among　his　brother…in…law's　friends　who　knows　whether　it's　good　or　badthat's　the　pity　of　it。　If　it's　bad　and　they　buy　it；　that's　their　fault　for　not　knowing　any　better；　not　Ridgway's　fault　for　doing　the　best　he　knows　how。　By　silk　stockings　and　pumps　I　suppose　Waller　means　that　Ridgway　dressed　himself　　like　a　gentleman；　had　his　hair　cut；　and　paid　some　attention　to　his　finger…nails。　That's　why　they　were　glad　to　see　him。　The　day　has　gone　by　when　a　painter　must　affect　a　bob…tailed　velveteen　jacket；　long　hair；　and　a　slouch　hat　to　help　him　paint；　just　as　the　day　has　gone　by　when　an　artist　is　not　an　honored　guest　in　any　gentleman's　house　in　town。〃
  〃Bravo；　Tom…Noddy！〃　shouted　Jack　and　Fred　in　a　breath。　〃Drink；　you　dear　old　pressed　brick。　Put　your　nose　into　this！〃　and　Fred　held　a　mug　of　beer　to　Oliver's　lips。
  Oliver　laid　down　his　sheaf　of　brushesburied　his　nose　in　the　cool　rim　of　the　stone　mug；　the　only　beverage　　the　club　permitted；　and　was　about　to　continue　his　talk；　when　his　eye　rested　on　Bianchi；　who　was　standing　in　the　open　door；　his　hand　upraised　so　as　to　bespeak　silence。
  〃Hereyou　beautiful；　bald…headed　old　burgomaster！〃　　shouted　Oliver。　〃Get　into　your　ruff　right　away。　Been　waiting　half　an　hour　for　you　and〃
  Bianchi　put　his　fingers　to　his　lips　with　a　whispered　hush；　knit　his　brow；　and　pointed　significantly　behind　him。　Every　eye　turned；　and　a　breathless　silence　fell　upon　the　group；　followed　by　a　scraping　of　chairs　on　the　floor　as　each　man　sprang　to　his　feet。
  Bianchi's　surprise　had　arrived！
  CHAPTER　XXI
  〃THE　WOMAN　IN　BLACK〃
  In　the　doorway；　immediately　behind　Bianchi　and　looking　over　the　little　man's　head；　stood　a　woman　of　perhaps　forty　years　of　age　in　full　evening　toilet。　About　her　head　was　wound　a　black　lace　scarf；　and　hanging　from　her　beautiful　shoulders；　half…concealing　a　figure　of　marvellous　symmetry；　was　a　long　black　cloak；　open　at　the　throat；　trimmed　with　fur；　and　lined　with　watermelon　pink　silk。　Tucked　in　her　hair　was　a　red　japonica。　She　was　courtesying　to　the　room　with　all　the　poise　and　graciousness　of　a　prima　donna　saluting　an　audience。
  Oliver　sprang　for　his　coat　and　was　about　to　cram　his　arms　into　the　sleeves；　when　she　cried：
  〃Oh；　please　don't！　I　wish　I　could　wear　a　coat　myself；　so　that　I　could　take　it　off　and　paint。　Oh！　the　smell　of　the　lovely　pipes！　It's　heavenly；　and　it's　so　like　home。　Really；〃　and　she　looked　about　her；　〃this　is　the　only　place　I　have　seen　in　America　that　I　can　breathe　in。　I've　heard　of　you　all　winter　and　I　so　wanted　to　come。　I　would　not　give　dear　Bianchi　any　rest　till　he　brought　me。　Oh！　I'm　so　glad　to　be　here。〃
  Oliver　and　the　others　were　still　standing；　looking　in　amazement　at　the　new…corner。　One　of　the　unwritten　　laws　of　the　club　was　that　no　woman　should　ever　enter　its　doors；　a　law　that　until　this　moment　had　never　been　broken。
  While　she　was　speaking　Bianchi　stepped　back；　and　took　the　tips　of　the　woman's　fingers　within　his　own。　When　she　had　finished　he　thrust　out　one　foot　and；　with　the　bow　of　an　impresario　introducing　a　new　songstress；　said：
  〃Gentlemen　of　the　Stone　Mugs；　I　have　the　honor　of　presenting　you　to　the　Countess　Kovalski。〃
  Again　the　woman　courtesied；　sweeping　the　floor　with　her　black　velvet　skirt；　broke　out　into　a　laugh；　handed　her　cloak　and　scarf　to　Bianchi；　who　threw　them　over　the　shoulders　of　the　lay　figure；　and　moved　toward　the　table；　Fred；　as　host；　drawing　out　a　chair　for　her。
  〃Oh！what　lovely　beginnings〃　she　continued；　examining　the　sketches　with　her　lorgnette；　after　the　members　had　made　their　salutations；　〃Let　me　make　one。　I　studied　two　years　with　Achenbach。　You　did　not　know　that　Bianchi；　did　you？　There　are　so　many　things　you　do　not　know；　you　lovely　man。〃　She　was　as　much　at　home　as　if　she　had　been　there　every　evening　of　her　life。
  Still；　with　the　same　joyous　self…contained　air　she　settled　herself　in　Fred's　proffered　chair；　picked　up　one　of　Jack's　brushes；　reached　over　his　shoulder；　and　with　a　〃please…hold…still；　thank　you；〃　scooped　up　a　little　yellow　ochre　from　his　palette；　and　unloaded　it　on　a　corner　of　a　tile。　Then；　stripping　off　her　bracelets；　she　piled　them　in　a　heap　before　her；　selected　a　Greek　coin　dangling　from　the　end　of　one　of　them；　propped　it　up　on　the　table　and　began　to　paint；　the　men；　all　of　whom　were　too　astonished　to　resume　their　work；　crowding　about　her；　watching　the　play　of　her　brush；　a　brush　so　masterful　in　its　technique　that　before　the　picture　was　finished　the　room　broke　out　in　unrestrained　applause。
  During　all　this　time　she　was　talking　in　German　to　Crug；　or　in　French　to　Waller；　only　stopping　to　light　a　fresh　cigarette　which　she　took　from　a　jewelled　case　and　laid　beside　her。　She　could；　no　doubt；　have　as　easily　lapsed　into　Russian；　Choctaw；　or　Chinese　had　there　been　any　such　strange　people　about。
  When　the　men　had　resumed　their　customary　seats　and　the　room　had　once　more　settled　to　workit　had　only　been　a　question　of　sex　that　had　destroyed　the　equilibrium；　a　question　no　longer　of　value　now　that　the　fair　intruder　could　really　PAINTOliver　bent　over　her　and　said　in　his　most　gallant　manner：
  〃If　the　Countess　Kovalski　will　be　gracious　enough　to　excuse　Bianchi　（he　had　never　left　her　elbow）　I　will　try　and　make　a　burgomaster　of　him。　Perhaps　you　will　help　me　tie　this　around　his　neck；〃　and　he　held　out　the　white　ruff。　He　had　put　on　his　coat　despite　her　protest。
  〃What；　dear　Bianchi　in　a　ruff！　Oh！　how　perfectly　charming！　That's　really　just　what　he　looks　like。　I've　always　told　him　that　Rembrandt　ought　to　have　seen　him。　Come；　you　sweet　man；　hold　up　your　beautiful　　Dutch　face。〃
  As　she　spoke　she　caught　the　ruff　from　Oliver's　hand　and　stretched　out　her　bare　arms　toward　Blanch。
  〃No；　I'm　not　going　to　pose　now；〃　protested　the　Pole；　pushing　back　her　hands。　〃You　can　get　me　any　time。　Take　the　Countess；　Horn。　She'd　make　a　stunner。〃
  〃Yes！　Yes！　Please　do；〃　she　laughed；　springing　from　her　seat　and　clapping　her　hands　with　all　the　gayety　and　joyousness　of　a　child　over　some　expected　pleasure。
  Oliver　hesitated　for　an　instant；　as　he　looked　down　into　her　eyes；　wondering　whether　his　brush　could　do　justice　to　their　depth。　Then　he　glanced　at　her　supple　figure　and　white　skin　in　contrast　to　the　black　velvet；　its　edge　softened　by　the　fall　of　lace；　the　　dominant；　insistent　note　of　the　red　japonica　in　her　blue…　black　hair；　the　flesh　tones　brilliant　under　the　gas…jets。　The　color　scheme　was　exactly　what　he　had　been　looking　　for　all　winterblack；　white；　and　a　touch　of　red。
  〃I　have　never　been　so　honored；　Madame。　Nothing　　could　give　me　greater　pleasure；〃　he　answered；　with　a　dry　smile。　〃May　I　escort　your　ladyship　to　the　platform？〃　And　he　held　out　his　hand　and　conducted　　her　to　the　stand　facing　the　big　easel。
  Then　there　followed　a　scene　such　as　many　of　the　Stone　Mugs　had　not　shared　in　since　they　left　the　Latin　Quarter。
  The　Countess　stood　erect　on　the　raised　platform；　with　head　up　and　slightly　turned；　the　full　glare　of　the　gas…jets　falling　upon　her　neck　and　throat；　made　all　the　more　brilliant　by　reason　of　the　dark　green　walls　of　Fred's　studio；　which　formed　the　background　behind　her。　One　arm　was　partly　raised；　a　lighted　cigarette　between　her　fingers；　the　other　was　lost　in　the　folds　of　the　velvet　gown。　She　posed　as　naturally　and　as　easily　as　if　she　had　done　nothing　else　all　her　life；　and　with　a　certain　bravado　and　swing　that　　enchanted　everybody　in　the　room。
  One　talent　demanded　of　the　artist　members　of　the　club　when　they　sought　admission；　and　insisted　upon　by　the　Committee；　was　the　ability；　possessed　in　a　marked　degree　by　Oliver；　of　making　a　rapid；　telling　sketch　from　life；　and　at　night。　So　expert　had　most　of　the　members　become　that　many　of　their　pictures　made　under　the　gas…light　were　as　correct　in　their　color…values　as　those　done　in　the　day…time。　In　this　Oliver　was　past…master。　Most　of　his　own　work　had　to　be　done　under　artificial　light　during　the　long　years　of　his　struggle。
  The　menthey　were　again　on　their　feetcrowded　closer；　forming　a　circle　about　the　easel。　They　saw　that　the　subject　appealed　to　Oliver；　and　they　knew　how　much　better　he　could　paint　when　his　heart　was　in　his　work。　His　picture　of　Margaret　Grant　in　the　Tam…　o'…Shanter　cap；　the　best　portrait　at　the　last　exhibition；　had　proved　that。
  Oliver　saw　the　interest　shown　in　his　work　and　put　himself　on　his　mettle。　He　felt　that　not　only　his　own　reputation；　but　the　honor　of　the　Stone　Mugs；　was　at　stake。　He　felt；　too；　a　certain　pride　and　confidence　in　the　sureness　of　his　toucha　touch　that　the　woman　he　loved　believed　inone　she　had　really　taught　him　herself；　He　began　by　blocking　in　with　a　bit　of　charcoal　　the　salien