The idea was so attractive that he put away his portfolio and drawing things and went out.
For an hour he gave himself up to the enjoyment of _l'Art_, excusing his indolence by telling himself that it was all in his profession and was not time lost.

A reproduction of a picture by Gerome gave him some suggestions for the "Last Enemy," which he noted very carefully.
He was interrupted by a rustle of starched skirts and a voice that said: "Why, hello, Van!" He looked up quickly to see a young girl of about twenty dressed in a black close-fitting bolero jacket of imitation astrakhan with big leg-of-mutton sleeves, a striped silk skirt, and a very broad hat tilted to one side.

Her hair was very blond, though coarse and dry from being bleached, and a little flat curl of it lay very low on her forehead.

She was marvellously pretty.

Vandover was delighted.
"Why, _Ida_!" he exclaimed, holding her hand; "_it's_ awfully nice to see you here; won't you sit down ?" and he pushed his chair toward her.
But Ida Wade said no, she had just come in after a new book, and of course it had to be out.