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Updated: May 28, 2025
The Elysian Fields lie only the surrender of the will away, if one but droops, with absent eye, head propped on hand, and dreams But Emily, all at once, is conscious that Miss Beaton's eyes are on her, at which she moves suddenly and looks up. But this mild-eyed teacher with the sweet, strong smile is but gazing absently down on her the while she talks.
"Very well, then; we have no money, either. We're a match for them any day there. We can show them that two can play at that game." Arnus Beaton's studio looked at first glance like many other painters' studios.
"Artists cannot tell a fib," Alma said, "or even act one," and she laughed in Beaton's upturned face. He did not unbend his dreamy gaze. "You're quite right. The suggestions are stupid." Alma turned to Miss Woodburn: "You hear? Even when we speak of our own work." "Ah nevah hoad anything lahke it!" "And the design itself?" Beaton persisted.
He was afraid, somehow, of Beaton's taking the matter in the cynical way; Miss Woodburn said she would break off the engagement if Beaton was left to guess it or find it out by accident, and then Fulkerson plucked up his courage. Beaton received the news with gravity, and with a sort of melancholy meekness that strongly moved Fulkerson's sympathy, and made him wish that Beaton was engaged, too.
Seven of the illustrations were Beaton's; two or three he got from practised hands; the rest were the work of unknown people which he had suggested, and then related and adapted with unfailing ingenuity to the different papers. He handled the illustrations with such sympathy as not to destroy their individual quality, and that indefinable charm which comes from good amateur work in whatever art.
We awe a great deal excited aboat it in this hoase, you know, Mr. Beaton," she concluded, with a look that now transferred the interest from Fulkerson to Alma. She led the way back to the room where they were sitting, and went up to triumph over Fulkerson with Beaton's decision about the table-cover.
They both mechanically kept up the fiction of plurality in speaking of Christine, but there was no doubt in the mind of either which of the young ladies the other meant. A good many thoughts went through Beaton's mind, and none of them were flattering.
"Plenty of people were nice at St. Barnaby. That rich Mrs. Horn couldn't contain her joy when she heard we were coming to New York, but she hasn't poured in upon us a great deal since we got here." "But that's different. She's very fashionable, and she's taken up with her own set. But Mr. Beaton's one of our kind." "Thank you. Papa wasn't quite a tombstone-cutter, mamma."
She made excuses to consult books in Miss Beaton's room, that she might be near her; she dreamed, and the sweetness and the sadness of it centred about Miss Beaton. She told Rosalie. "Why, of course, I guessed her right at first," said Rosalie; but she said it jealously, for she, too, was secretly adoring Miss Beaton.
"Plenty of people were nice at St. Barnaby. That rich Mrs. Horn couldn't contain her joy when she heard we were coming to New York, but she hasn't poured in upon us a great deal since we got here." "But that's different. She's very fashionable, and she's taken up with her own set. But Mr. Beaton's one of our kind." "Thank you. Papa wasn't quite a tombstone-cutter, mamma."
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