"No, there's nothing changed. How good it is! D'you remember when I fastened
your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?"
Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to Dick.
"Wait a minute," said he. "That mouth is down at the corners a little. Who's
been worrying you, Maisie?"
"No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try hard
enough, and Kami says----"
"'Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants.' Kami is
depressing. I beg your pardon."
"Yes, that's what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing better and
he'd let me exhibit this year."
"Not in this place, surely?"
"Of course not. The Salon."
"You fly high."
"I've been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?"
"I don't exhibit. I sell."
"What is your line, then?"
"Haven't you heard?" Dick's eyes opened. Was this thing possible? He cast about
for some means of conviction. They were not far from the Marble Arch. "Come up
Oxford Street a little and I'll show you."
A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well.
"Some reproduction of my work inside," he said, with suppressed triumph. Never
before had success tasted so sweet upon the tongue.
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