"Well, that was better than nothing," Charlie thought. She might work a while, and perhaps learn something more definite about the School of Design.
"For I'll never give it up, never!" and Charlie set her resolute red lips together, while her eyes glanced into the future.
The following morning was so lovely, that she felt as if she must have a walk. She put on her white dress and sacque, and looked as fresh as a rose. She would go over on Broadway, where every thing was clean and lovely, and have a delightful time looking at the shop-windows and the beautiful ladies.
It was foolish to take her pictures along, and yet she did it. They really appeared a part of her life. On and on she sauntered, enjoying every thing with the keenest relish. The mellow sun, the refreshing air that had in it a crisp flavor, the cloudless sky overhead, and the bright faces around, made her almost dance with gladness.
She stood for a long while viewing some chromos in a window,—two or three of children, which were very piquant and amusing, and appealed to her love of fun. Obeying her impulse she entered, and stole timidly around. Two gentlemen were talking, and one of the faces pleased her exceedingly. A large, fair, fresh-complexioned man, with curly brown hair, and a patriarchal beard, snowy white, though he did not appear old.
A young fellow came to her presently, and asked if there was any thing he could show her.
"I should like to see the gentleman—when he is—disengaged."
That speech would have done credit to Florence.