Come in!" For a tap at the studio door suddenly brought our enthusiastic artist back to earth.

He flung a cloth over the sketch, and leaned gracefully against the easel.
The figure that entered somewhat disturbed the young man's constitutional phlegm--it was so unlike his usual run of visitors--a remarkable figure, tall, gaunt, and bony, clad in wretched garb; a haggard, powerful face, weather-beaten and brown, and two blazing black eyes.
The artist opened his own handsome orbs to their widest extent.
"I wish to see Mr.Hugh Ingelow," said this singular woman in a deep bass voice.
"I am Hugh Ingelow, madame, at your service." The woman fixed her burning eyes on the calm, serenely handsome face.
The lazy hazel eyes of the artist met hers coolly, unflinchingly.
"I await your pleasure, madame.

Will you enter and sit down ?" The woman came in, closed the door cautiously after her, but declined the proffered seat.
"To what am I indebted for the honor of this visit ?" asked the artist, quietly.

"I have not the pleasure of knowing you." "I am Mollie Dane's aunt." "Ah, indeed!" and Mr.Hugh Ingelow lighted up, for the first time, with something like human interest.

"Yes, yes; I remember you now.