Part 18 (1/2)

”If I had done it,” said Dr. Ferris, ”I wouldn't dare touch it.”

”Yes, you would,” said Barbara, ”if you knew that you could make it better. It's still a beginning.”

”When do you expect to finish?”

”I'm going to keep on working until I know that I've done the best I can. We may be months on it.”

Blizzard smiled secretly, and Dr. Ferris managed to conceal his annoyance.

”I wish, my dear,” he said, ”that I had taken you more seriously in the beginning. But it is not too late to get some advantage by studying in Paris and Rome.”

”I don't believe it's ever too late for that,” said Barbara, ”and of course I've always been crazy for the chance, but knowing how you felt--”

”Say the word,” said her father, ”and you shall go to-morrow.”

Blizzard's face was like stone; he felt that his high hopes were on a more precarious footing than ever. If she had the whim, Barbara would go abroad, far beyond the reach of even his long arms.

”You could finish your bust any time,” said Dr. Ferris persuasively.

But Barbara shook her head with complete decision. ”A bird in the hand,”

she said, ”is worth two in the bush. And--I hope I'm wrong--but I have the conviction that this head is going to be the best thing I shall ever do. I can look at it quite impersonally, because half the time it seems to model itself. _I_ think it's going to be good. If it is good, it will be one of those lucky series of accidents that sometimes happen to undeserving but lucky people.”

Dr. Ferris sighed inwardly, but the expression of his face did not change. ”Do you mind if I stay?” he asked. ”I think it's time I knew what you look like when you are at work, don't you?”

”_High_ time!” exclaimed Barbara. ”I'll just get into my ap.r.o.n.” She went into the next room and closed the door.

”Your innocents abroad,” said the legless man, ”wasn't a success.” His face was a jeer.

XV

”Barbara,” said her father when they had finished dinner, ”I made a threat this morning, and I'm going to keep it. If you have no especial objection, will you come into the library?”

Her face was radiant; he had been praising her work for the tenth time.

”It sounds,” she said, ”as if I was going to be whipped. That wasn't what you threatened to do, was it?”

”No,” said he. ”_I'm_ to be punished. I'm going to tell you about a mistake of judgment I once made. But not as a warning, or a moral lesson--merely, my dear, that you and I may learn to know each other better. First, though, I want to talk to you about your model.”

”He's rather fascinating, don't you think?”

”He is very clever,” said her father, ”and when he chooses he can talk very well. He proved that this morning. To me, personally, he is most repugnant, but I admit that when he once launched out, I listened as a school-boy listens to stories of treasure and pirates. He's lived and observed and suffered. There is no doubt about that. But I shall be greatly relieved to hear that your bust is finished. I don't like the idea of such a man being in the same block with you. I hope that you will not feel inspired to do another head of him.”

”He's a splendid model,” said Barbara. ”Of course this morning he didn't keep still--and he did talk. But then I wasn't really working; When I wish he keeps almost as still as the clay I work with.”

”Doesn't looking at him ever give you--oh, a disagreeable creepy feeling?”

”Not any more. I'm so used to him now. No, I feel a genuine friendliness for him,”

”I thought,” said her father, ”that to you artists, models were absolutely impersonal--just planes and angles and--what was it you used to say?”