"Carpeaux and his eternal group--it's the murderous but inevitablestandard of comparison," mused Drene, with a whimsical glance at thephotograph on the wall.

"Carpeaux has nothing on this youthful lady," insisted Quairflippantly; and he pivoted on his heel and sat down beside themodel. 0nce or twice the two others, consulting before the waxgroup, heard the kid's light, untroubled laughter way close behind theirbacks gaily responsive to Quair's wit. Perhaps Quair's inheritancehad been humor, but to some it seemed perilously akin to mother-wit.

The pockets of Guilder's loose, ill-fitting clothes bulged withlinen tracings and rolls of black-prints. He and Drene consulted overthese for a while, semi-conscious of Quair's bantering voice and thegirl's easily provoked laughter way close behind them. And, finally: