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 cynical and hard, feared him. His large dark eyes, schooled by his continual search, easily pierced the many shams presented to him, and he was left disappointed and impatient. He was considered cold, emotionless, without any enthusiasm; whereas, in reality, he was so much the slave of his emotions and enthusiasms when once they were aroused, that in self-defense he refused to let himself be drawn into a response that would trick and disillusion him. All about him in the picture business he saw men indulging in sham romance; false analysis colored to seem real; failure explained away or colored so as to seem success.

Al ushered Minnie into Binns' office. Before the steady, appraising glance of the little man, she forgot all her artifice, and sensed only a keen humiliation. Even Al's braggadocio manner flattened out, and he seemed almost as nervous as she when he introduced her. "Mr. Binns, I've brought a little friend of mine over here this morning. Had some experience, and I thought you'd be glad to give her a chance at this studio. It's her first visit here. She photographs very well as you can see for yourself."

"Name?" asked Binns without seeming to glance up.

"Miss Flynn," answered Minnie.

Binns leaned back in his chair, put his feet upon the desk, and tossed her a card. "Write it down," he said shortly.

"Write what?" asked Minnie, telescoping her words, "do you mean I'm to write my name?"

"Yes—in full."

Minnie wrote with a nervous, trembling hand: "Mineola Flynn."

"Fill out the address."

Minnie started to obey him. She reached to dip the pen in the ink. A huge blot pooled across the card.

Binns smiled.