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 Wasn't it a wonder that something did not tell him, "It is monstrous, inhuman to thus prey upon the credulity of an impulsive, over sensitive nature." Not when it is learned that whatever of heart, conscience, manliness, courage, reverence, charity, nature had endowed him at his birth, had been swallowed up in that one quality—selfishness.

"I wish I could help you," Cherokee said timidly, "for I need the money. All I had has gone for my winter wardrobe."

"Then I will tell you how to help us both. The model I want is yourself." He spoke bravely now.

"Me?"

"Yes, if you will let me, I can do us both justice, and you will be counted the dream of all New York."

She listened to his speech like the bird that flutters around the dazzling serpent; she was fascinated by this dangerous man, and neither able nor honestly willing to escape.

"Besides, I will make your portrait for Mrs. Stanhope free of charge," was the artist's afterthought.

"I could not accept so much from you," she answered, promptly.

"I offered it by way of rewarding your own generosity, but come, say you will pose for me anyhow."