"Of course, I do."
"I thought you were making it your profession."
"So I am."
Charlie looked at her and shook his head. "You'll never make your fortune," he said.
Jean laughed gaily.
"Not my pile, like your good friend, but I shall get along. I have no expensive tastes, and a simple life suits me best."
"There I'm with you! The more money you have, the more you multiply your responsibilities, worries, and accounts! I can tot up rows of figures, as long as they don't run into more than three or four figures; then I'm stumped! We have a good many tastes in common, Jean."
"Very few I should say," asserted Jean.
He chatted on, driving dull care away, persisted in loading her with flowers, when he left her at her door, and scolded her well, for not being willing to go to a theatre with him. He stayed in town several days, and each day, found him lying in wait for Jean as she came out of her art school. She was quite relieved when he left town. He made her promise to write to him, if she wanted commissions for portraits.
"I run up against a lot of people, am always looking up old chums and going to stay at their places. I'm not like you were—bound and tied to the old man. I told him I must have perfect liberty of action and speech, and he knuckled under, in no time. But I'm often in the way of getting you work, remember; and will be on the look out for a real out-and-out beauty for you! Drop me a line if you think better of my old sheep-farmer. He isn't a bad sort of fellow."