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Updated: May 26, 2025
There they bade each other good-night, Margaret promising to be ready in the morning with her big easel and a fresh canvas, which Oliver was to carry, when they would both go sketching together and make a long blessed summer day of it. That night Oliver's upraised, restless hands felt the shingles over his head more than once before he could get to sleep.
If once more she could have him about her as when rearranging the store, and, without the restraint of curious eyes, could play upon his heart, then pass at once to her easel with the vivid impression of what she saw, she might catch the coveted power, and become able to portray, as if she felt, that which is the inspiration of all the highest forms of art feeling. That evening, Dennis, at Mr.
Gaston Probert invited himself to breakfast at noon and remained till the time at which the artist usually went out an extravagance partly justified by the previous separation of several weeks. During these three or four hours Gaston walked up and down the studio while Waterlow either sat or stood before his easel.
See with what an adroit and delicate touch the jade slips the long square knife under the gossamer gold-leaf which she has blown gently out of the book and turns it over; and now she breathes gently and vertically on the exact center of it, and the fragile yet rebellious leaf that has rolled itself up like a hedgehog is flattened by that human zephyr on the little leathern easel.
But not once had he turned from his work in that listening attitude, or looked from the window as though half-expecting some one, without her noting it. And, always, her eyes had flashed with resentment, which she had promptly concealed when the painter, again turning to his easel, had looked from his canvas to her face.
Rushing to the picture, he thrust his maul-stick through it, then kicked easel and painting to the floor. Coello, shaking his head, watched him, and tried to soothe him with kindly words, but Ulrich paid no heed, exclaiming: "It is all over with art, all over. A Dios, Master! Your daughter does not care for love without art, and art and I have nothing more to do with each other."
The spectacle had allured Reynolds from that easel which has preserved to us the thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, and the sweet smiles of so many noble matrons.
From the studio, indeed, they were excluded while Mr. Castleton was at his easel, but they were allowed to use it when he was not working, and it proved admirable for either games, theatricals, or dancing. With so many costumes in the cupboard it was easy to get up charades, and they had much fun over acting.
There is no mistaking those bold, black lines, that peculiar way of indicating muscle beneath the tightly stretched skin it is his own work! Anywhere would he have known it! A knock at the door! Jean Potin enters, radiating cheerfulness. "Breakfast in your room, monsieur? We are busy this morning; I share in the work. Permit me to move the table and the easel Sacré-bleu!"
Sandro arranged his easel, spread his crayons on the table, and looked about the room making calculations as to light. He motioned her to a certain spot. She took the position, and as he picked up a crayon and examined it carelessly she raised her arms and the robe fell at her feet. Sandro faced her, and saw the tall, delicate form, palpitating before him.
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