“Who else has told you?” asked Lyster, and she laughed at him.
“Not you,” she replied; “at least not since you teased me about the clay Indians I made on the shores of the Kootenai. But some one else has told me—Mr. Roden.”
“Roden, the sculptor! But how does he know?”
She glanced from one face to the other, and sighed with a serio-comic expression. “I might as well confess,” she said, at last. “I am so glad you are here, Miss Margaret, for I may need an advocate. I have been working two hours a day in Mr. Roden’s studio for over a month.”
“Montana!” gasped Miss Seldon, “but—how—when?”
“Before you were awake in the morning,” she said, and looked from one to the other of their blank faces. “You look as if it were a shock, instead of a surprise,” she added. “I did not tell you at first, as it would seem only a whim. But he has told me I have reason for the whim, and that I should continue. So—I think I shall.”
“But, my child—for you are a child, after all—don’t you know it is a very strange thing for a girl to go alone like that, and—and—Oh, dear! Max, can’t you tell her?”
But Max did not. There was a slight wrinkle between his brows, but she saw it and smiled.
“You can’t scold me, though, can you?” she asked. “That is right, for it would be no use. I know you would say that in your set it would not be proper for a girl to do such independent things. But you see, I do not belong to any set. I have just been telling this dear little 320 lady, who is trying to look stern, some of the reasons why society life and I can never agree. But I have found several reasons why Art life and I should agree perfectly. I like the freedom of it—the study of it. And, even if I never accomplish much, I shall at least have tried my best.”
“But, Montana, it is not as though you had to learn such things,” pleaded Miss Seldon. “You have plenty of money.”