"Just once. She bought the first picture I ever sold."
"Great Cæsar! Are you the fellow who drew a picture of a waterfall somewhere and sold it to her for fifty dollars?" Converse was staring at Jud with eager eyes.
"I'm the one who imposed upon her," said Jud, lamely.
"Then, you're the good-looking country boy with the beautiful sweetheart that Celeste talked so much about. Well, this beats the——"
"Celeste? Is that her name?" cried Jud, sitting bolt upright.
"Yes. Her mother is French—she was a countess, by the way. Celeste has that picture hanging in her den—and her den is a wonder, too—and she never fails to tell about that little experience down in Indiana. She'll be crazy to meet you."
Jud's heart gave a leap. He was bewildered in a tumult of emotions. The recognition of the portrait, the mysterious coincidence in names—the one his imagination had given her, and the one she bore; the thoughts that she remembered him and Justine; that his picture hung in her den; that she might really be glad to see him. Impossibilities upon impossibilities!
"My picture in her den?" he managed to stammer, feeling sure that his friend could detect an emotion that might require explanation.
"Sure—most prominent thing in the room. She says the boy who drew it will be a master some day. The trouble is, she forgot your name. She says she'd know your face or the girl's anywhere, but the name is gone. By George, this will please her."
The girl's! Jud's thoughts flew back to Justine, tenderly, even resentfully, for why should this careless city maid speak of her as "the girl"?