"No," replied Sturgis, "I merely dropped in to say that I should be unable to take our projected bicycle trip this afternoon, I shall probably be busy with the Knickerbocker bank case all day. By the way, if you would like to come to the bank with me, I shall be glad of your company. I am on my way there now."
"I should like nothing better," said Sprague, "but I have made an appointment for this morning with a——er——er——with a sitter."
"What, on New Year's day, you heathen!"
Sturgis observed the artist closely, and then added quizzically:
"Accept my congratulations, old man."
"Your congratulations?" inquired Sprague, coloring slightly.
"Yes; my congratulations and my condolence. My congratulations on the fact that she is young and beautiful, and possessed of all those qualities of mind and heart which——and so on and so forth. My condolence because I fear you are hit, at last."
"What do you mean?" stammered the artist sheepishly; "do you know her? What do you know about her?"
"Nothing whatever," replied Sturgis laughing, "except what you are telling me by your hesitations, your reticence and your confusion."
The artist spoke after a moment of thoughtful silence: