Part 7 (2/2)
Bulstrode said coldly:
”I'm afraid I must insist, Miss Desprey; I couldn't order less than a fifteen-hundred dollar portrait It's the sum I have planned to pay when I'm painted”
”But a celebrated painter would paint it for that”
Bulstrode smiled fatuously
”Can't a man pay for his fads? I want to be painted by the person who did that portrait over there, Miss Desprey”
In a tiny studio--the dingy chrysalis of a Bohemian art student--Bulstrode posed for his portrait
Eachsaw him set forth from the Ritz alert and debonaire in his fastidious toilet---saw hie, and lose his worldly figure in the lax nonchalant crowd of the Quarter Latin At the end of an alley as narrow and picturesque as a lane in a colored print he knocked at a green door, and was adee In another second he had assu to the pose, and Miss Desprey before her easel began the _seance_
On these May days the glass roof adlory to the commonplace _atelier_ A few cheap casts, a few yards of raphs, a s It had been impossible for Bulstrode to pass indifferently the venders of flowers in the festive, brilliant streets, and great bunches of _girofle_, hyacinths, and narcissi overflowed the earthenware pitchers and vases hich the studio was plentifully supplied The soft, sharp fragrance rose above the shut-in odor of the _atelier_, and, while Miss Desprey worked, her patron looked at her across waves of spring perfue_ linen, half belted in at the waist and entirely covering her, made her to Bulstrode, from the crown of her fair hair to the tip of her old tan shoes, seem all of one color He had taken treress of the work He would have looked at the portrait every few lis took place on the canvas, till ”schemes and composition” were deterlib school teruine hope that with the aid of such potent technicalities and his interest sheshort of atrocious
He posed faithfully for Miss Desprey, and s lance hich she professionally regarded hi to her art's requirements They talked in his rest, and he took pleasure in telling her how he enjoyed his hted hiht to Paris to glow and blossom in the venders' carts or in little baskets on the backs of woht life in Paris was
”There is,” he finished, ”nothing in the world which co-ti like in Idaho?”
Miss Desprey laughed, touched her ruffled hair with painty fingers, blushed, and uess There's a trolley-line in Centreville, an electric plant and the oil works--no trees, no flowers, and the people all look alike So you see”--she had a dazzling way of shaking her head, when her fine white teeth, her sunny dishevelled hair, her bright cheeks and eyes see in Centreville and _Paris_ isn't the sas are beautiful everywhere,” she assured him slowly as she painted, ”if you're happy--and I was very unhappy in Centreville, so I thought I'd co streaarance_ from the tube on to her palette Bulstrode watched, fascinated
”And here in Paris, are you--have you been happy here?”
”Oh, dear no!” she laughed; ”perfectly h it was cruel of the city to be so gay and happy when I couldn't join in--” Bulstrode, re the one franc a day and the very questionable inspiration her poor art could i--”until,” she went slowly on, ”lately”
She stepped behind the canvas and was lost to sight ”I've been awfully happy in Paris for the first tis--but I like beautiful people better--and you're beautiful--beautiful”
She finished with a blush and a s at all about his portrait further than fervently to hope it would not shock hihtfully in earnest, and worked until her eyes gloith exciteorous and (Bulstrode over and over again said) ”young, so young!” she never evinced any signs of fatigue, but stood when his limbs trembled under him and looked up radiant when he was ready to cry ”_Grace!_” In her enthusiass a day, but this his worldly relations would not permit As she painted, painted, her head on one side sometimes, sometimes thrown back, her eyes half closed, he studied her with pleasure and delight
”What a pity she paints so dreadfully ill! What a pity she paints at all! What difference, after all, does it make _what_ she does? She's so pretty and fe, sweet creature, and the walk and the flower debauch he per quiet hours of coirl in the _atelier_, illumined, accentuated, and intensified Bulstrode's already fatuous appreciation of the spring in Paris
During Bulstrode's artistic ic to which he was not insensitive Whether or not it ca of the sun through the studio light, who can say, but as he stood in his assumed position of _nonchalance_ he was more and more charmed by his painter The spell he naturally felt should, and for long indeed did, eure, lost at times behind her canvas, and at times completely in his view
For years Bulstrode had been the victiain_--to love anew! Neither of these stateood faith to prove hienerally claimed for him by his friends--susceptible; alas, he knew better!
As he irl he spun for hi her off,to her all that his wealth and position could of life and the world He grew tender at the thought of her poor struggle, her insufficient art, her aood fairy, of touching her gray, hard life to color and beauty, and as the beauty and the holy intihts wandered as pilgrims whose feet stray back in the ays and find their own old footprints there,and after a few moments Miss Desprey was like to be farther away from his meditations than Centreville is from Paris, and the personality of the dream-woman was another Once Miss Desprey's voice startled hi hihed and apologized he caught her eyes fixed on hiht, a curious expression of affection and sy to them
She reddened and went furiously back to work She was more personal that day than she had yet been She see surprised his absent-ht to him--quite ordered him about, and was almost petulant in her exactions of his positions
Her work evidently advanced to her satisfaction