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Updated: May 11, 2025
Prochnow himself could not feel that he was poor. She was here; his drawings were with the bank; his Odalisque was at the club; and his Fall of Madame Lucifer, in a bright new frame, adorned the chaste walls of Roscoe Orlando Gibbons. The future was bright with promise. He dared to speak now. He would. He did.
Kitty Gowan strode in holding her head high. "How do?" she said carelessly, by way of general salute. "Sit there, Medora," she directed Mrs. Joyce, indicating a chair. "Sit here, Medora," said O'Grady firmly, placing another. "Prochnow, Preciosa dear, allow me to present " and so on. "And you sit here," he said to Kitty Gowan, placing a third chair.
"I have found you very easily, Mademoiselle," Preciosa felt a sugary little shudder at this repetition of the word, "I have found you very easily," said Prochnow, casting about for his palette and brushes; "and now I may just as easily lose you." "Oh no," said Elizabeth Gibbons, with great earnestness. "Never fear," said Little O'Grady confidently.
"That's the trouble. Let's look." "It isn't much," said Prochnow, undoing the roll. "It isn't quite what I would do now. It's the sort of thing I show to ordinary people." "It will do to begin on. H'm, I see; just a lot of ladies playing at Commerce and Education and Industry and so on. Still, those cherubs up in the air are well done." He glanced over behind the wood-box.
"Science," he explained to Prochnow, next day, "will be clearing the air of the bats of ignorance, and Democracy will be clearing the ground of the imps of aristocracy or maybe they'll be demons. And between the two, right in the middle, of course, the Car of Progress will advance in very low relief.
Preciosa set the day; Little O'Grady traced Prochnow's name in elaborate letterings and clapped this new placard over Gowan's own; and all waited intent to see just what of interest would develop in the countenance of the daughter of the McNultys, and just what Ignace Prochnow would be able to make of it. Nor did she find in her painter any of Dill's soft suavity.
Miss Gibbons gave Little O'Grady another look. Preciosa paused in her heavenward ascent, and seemed to be wondering with a questioning little glance just how far along, after all, she had got. When she finally left her high-backed chair "That's as far as we will go to-day," Prochnow had said she felt herself very close to earth again: the cherished "resemblance" had vanished altogether.
Prochnow was in a deplorable state and needed all the support Little O'Grady could give him. He had not seen Preciosa for several days. He had called at the house once or twice that vast florid pile, which had always looked lackadaisical rather than cruel; but it had refused to admit him. Nothing came to console him except three or four tear-stained little scrawls from Preciosa herself.
Prochnow spent the whole day working for Preciosa, oblivious of Virgilia's snares or of the debut of Robin Morrell. He heaved history, tradition, legend, mythology into the furnace, worked the bellows with indefatigable hand, blew his brains to a white heat and kept them there, and dropped down at dusk with his project complete.
Virgilia gently but decidedly held the girl's father up to reprobation. Elizabeth professed herself utterly shocked by this disclosure of her parent's divagations and conveyed the impression that he should be brought back into the right path and should turn from Prochnow and all his works. "What sort of a thing did he make of it?" asked Virgilia, thinking of the portrait.
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