He's an artist." "Good night!" murmured Kitty.

"If there is one kind of person in the world dad considers wholly useless and incompetent, it's an artist or a poet." "But this artist makes fifteen thousand and sometimes twenty thousand the year." "Then he's no artist.

What is his name ?" "Forbes, J.Mortimer Forbes." "Oh.

The pretty-cover man." "My dear, he is one of the nicest young men in New York.

His family is one of the best, and he goes everywhere.