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Updated: May 2, 2025
The dress I had chosen was of a dull red tint, not unlike that of Leighton's picture, but I had no fear of seeming to copy Leighton. What true artist ever fears he may be considered a copyist? He knows the strength and vitality of his conception will need no spokesman when it appears. I felt frightfully restless and excited, a mad longing filled me to get the first sketch on paper.
Murray, who had a very romantic heart, had seen it in a shop-window and impulsively bought it, and it had just been sent home. Noel, stepping with the utmost caution over the thick carpet, came near enough to look at the picture over Christine's shoulder. He knew it well. It was Frederick Leighton's "Wedded."
Hans, Fritz, Anna were in New York. Could Leighton give any news of them? Each had his little pathetically confident cry for news of son or daughter, and Leighton's personal acquaintance, as an American, was taken to range from Toronto to Buenos Aires.
"Let me give you some more coffee, at any rate," said Sophie, with affectionate interest. Indeed, I think at that moment she absolutely loved him. In a few minutes I escaped from the table; when I came down from my room ready for church, I found that they were all just starting. Kilian was carrying Mary Leighton's prayer-book, and was evidently intending to walk with her.
She said she could take the small one, and the other was so large that her father could both sleep and work in it. She seemed not ashamed to ask if Mrs. Leighton's price was inflexible, but gave way laughing when her father refused to have any bargaining, with a haughty self-respect which he softened to deference for Mrs. Leighton.
Sitting under the two giant elms that were the sole ornament of the soft old lawn, she suddenly caught the look on the face of the house, and called out: "Mother, come here! Come quickly!" as though the look couldn't possibly last through Mrs. Leighton's leisurely approach. "What is it, dear?" asked Mrs. Leighton. "Why, the house!" said Natalie. "Look at it. It's horrified at something.
LEIGHTON'S heart ached for his boy as he watched him go, and during the next few weeks Iris pity changed into an active anxiety. In setting that trap he could call it nothing else for Lew, he and H lne had put forces into conflict that were not amenable to any light control. Lewis had passed his word. Leighton knew he would never go back on it.
"We're going to have your face there; Miss Leighton's going to sketch it in." He said this reckless of the fact that he had already shown them the design of the second number, which was Beaton's weird bit of gas-country landscape. "Ah don't see why you don't wrahte the fiction for your magazine, Mr. Fulkerson," said the girl. This served to remind Fulkerson of something. He turned to her father.
He now saw how extremely fit and effective Miss Leighton's decorative design for the cover was, printed in black and brick-red on the delicate gray tone of the paper. It was at once attractive and refined, and he credited Beaton with quite all he merited in working it over to the actual shape. The touch and the taste of the art editor were present throughout the number.
I like neither fox-hunting, marriage, Robert Louis Stevenson's stories, nor Sir Frederick Leighton's pictures; I prefer monkish Latin to Virgil, and I adore Degas, Monet, Manet, and Renoir, and since this is so, and alas, I am afraid irrevocably so, do you not think that I should do well to keep outside a world in which I should be the only wrong and vicious being?
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