All he could find was a sovereign and some coppers. ‘Poorold fellow，’ he thought to himself， ‘he wants it more than I do，but it means no hansoms for a fortnight’； and he walked acrossthe studio and slipped the sovereign into the beggar’s hand.
The old man started， and a faint smile flitted across hiswithered lips. ‘thank you， sir，’ he said， ‘thank you.’
Then Trevor arrived， and Hughie took his leave， blushing alittle at what he had done. He spent the day with Laura， got acharming scolding for his extravagance， and had to walk home.
That night he strolled into the Palette Club about eleveno’clock， and found Trevor sitting by himself in the smokingroomdrinking hock and seltzer.
‘Well， Alan， did you get the picture finished all right？’ hesaid， as he lit his cigarette.
‘Finished and framed， my boy！’ answered Trevor； ‘and， bythe bye， you have made a conquest. That old model you sawis quite devoted to you. I had to tell him all about you—whoyou are， where you live， what your income is， what prospectsyou have—’
‘My dear Alan，’ cried Hughie， ‘I shall probably find himwaiting for me when I go home. But of course you are onlyjoking. Poor old wretch！ I wish I could do something for him.
I think it is dreadful that any one should be so miserable. Ihave got heaps of old clothes at home—do you think he wouldcare for any of them？ Why， his rags were falling to bits.’
‘But he looks splendid in them，’ said Trevor. ‘I wouldn’tpaint him in a frock coat for anything. What you call rags Icall romance. What seems poverty to you is picturesqueness tome. However， I’ll tell him of your offer.’
‘Alan，’ said Hughie seriously， ‘you painters are a heartlesslot.’
‘An artist’s heart is his head，’ replied Trevor； ‘and besides，our business is to realise the world as we see it， not to reformit as we know it. A chacun son metier. And now tell me howLaura is. The old model was quite interested in her.’
‘You don’t mean to say you talked to him about her？’ saidHughie.
‘Certainly I did. He knows all about the relentless colonel，the lovely Laura， and the 10，000 pounds.’
‘You told that old beggar all my private affairs？’ criedHughie， looking very red and angry.
‘My dear boy，’ said Trevor， smiling， ‘that old beggar， as youcall him， is one of the richest men in Europe. He could buy allLondon tomorrow without overdrawing his account. He hasa house in every capital， dines off gold plate， and can preventRussia going to war when he chooses.’
‘What on earth do you mean？’ exclaimed Hughie.
‘What I say，’ said Trevor. ‘the old man you saw today inthe studio was Baron Hausberg. He is a great friend of mine，buys all my pictures and that sort of thing， and gave me acommission a month ago to paint him as a beggar. Que voulezvous？
La fantaisie d’un millionnaire！ And I must say he madea magnificent figure in his rags， or perhaps I should say in myrags； they are an old suit I got in Spain.’
‘Baron Hausberg！’ cried Hughie. ‘Good heavens！ I gavehim a sovereign！’ and he sank into an armchair the picture ofdismay.
‘Gave him a sovereign！’ shouted Trevor， and he burst into aroar of laughter. ‘My dear boy， You’ll never see it again. Sonaffaire c’est l’argent des autres.’
‘I think you might have told me， Alan，’ said Hughie sulkily，‘and not have let me make such a fool of myself.’
‘Well， to begin with， Hughie，’ said Trevor， ‘it never enteredmy mind that you went about distributing alms in that recklessway. I can understand your kissing a pretty model， but yourgiving a sovereign to an ugly one—by Jove， no！ Besides， thefact is that I really was not at home to-day to any one； andwhen you came in I didn’t know whether Hausberg would likehis name mentioned. You know he wasn’t in full dress.’
‘What a duffer he must think me！’ said Hughie.
‘Not at all. He was in the highest spirits after you left；kept chuckling to himself and rubbing his old wrinkled handstogether. I couldn’t make out why he was so interested toknow all about you； but I see it all now. He’ll invest yoursovereign for you， Hughie， pay you the interest every sixmonths， and have a capital story to tell after dinner.’
‘I am an unlucky devil，’ growled Hughie. ‘the best thing Ican do is to go to bed； and， my dear Alan， you mustn’t tell anyone. I shouldn’t dare show my face in the Row.’
‘Nonsense！ It reflects the highest credit on your philanthropicspirit， Hughie. And don’t run away. Have another cigarette， andyou can talk about Laura as much as you like.’
However， Hughie wouldn’t stop， but walked home， feelingvery unhappy， and leaving Alan Trevor in fits of laughter.
The next morning， as he was at breakfast， the servant broughthim up a card on which was written， ‘Monsieur Gustave Naudin，de la part de M. le Baron Hausberg.’ ‘I suppose he has come foran apology，’ said Hughie to himself； and he told the servant toshow the visitor up.
An old gentleman with gold spectacles and grey hair cameinto the room， and said， in a slight French accent， ‘Have I thehonour of addressing Monsieur Erskine？’
Hughie bowed.
‘I have come from Baron Hausberg，’ he continued. ‘theBaron—’
‘I beg， sir， that you will offer him my sincerest apologies，’
stammered Hughie.
‘the Baron，’ said the old gentleman with a smile， ‘hascommissioned me to bring you this letter’； and he extended asealed envelope.
On the outside was written， ‘A wedding present to HughErskine and Laura Merton， from an old beggar，’ and inside wasa cheque for 10，000 pounds.
When they were married Alan Trevor was the best man， andthe Baron made a speech at the wedding breakfast.
‘Millionaire models，’ remarked Alan， ‘are rare enough； but，by Jove， model millionaires are rarer still！’