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Stanwell smiled, but more at himself than Shepson. How could he ever have supposed that the gross fool would see anything in his sketch of Kate Arran?
Speaking of ravens, though, Kate told me she saw old Shepson coming out of your place I say, old man, you're not meditating an apostasy? You're not doing the kind of thing that Shepson would look at?" Stanwell laughed. "Oh, he looked at them but only to confirm his reasons for rejecting them." "Ha! ha! That's right he wanted to refresh his memory with their badness.
It was this last consideration which took the strongest hold on Stanwell he felt Caspar's sufferings chiefly through the thought of his sister's possible disillusionment. WITHIN three months two events had set the studio building talking. Stanwell had painted a full-length portrait of Mrs. Archer Millington, and Caspar Arran had received an order to execute his group in marble.
But how on earth did he happen to have any doubts on the subject? I should as soon have thought of his coming in here!" Stanwell winced at the analogy, but replied in Caspar's key: "Oh, he's not as sure of any of us as he is of you!" The sculptor received this tribute with a joyous expletive. "By God, no, he's sure of me, as you say!
His tour brought him at length face to face with the painter, where he paused, clasping his plump gloved hands behind his back, and shaking an admonitory head. "Gleffer very gleffer, of course I suppose you'll let me know when you want to sell anything?" "Let you know?" gasped Stanwell, to whom the room grew so glowingly hot that he thought for a moment the janitor must have made up the fire.
But Stanwell could see that, even now, Kate had not forgiven him for the Cupids. Stanwell himself had spent the early winter months in idleness. The sight of his tools filled him with a strange repugnance, and he absented himself as much as possible from the studio. But Shepson's visit roused him to the fact that he must decide on some definite course of action.
Dat's de public all over! Mrs. Millington don't want a Mungold, because everybody's got a Mungold, but she wants a picture that's in the same sdyle, because dat's de sdyle, and she's afraid of any oder!" Stanwell was listening with real enjoyment. "Ah, you know your public," he murmured. "Vell, you do, too, or you couldn't have painted dat," the dealer retorted.
Stanwell told me herself she is such a nice little person, Livy that they have only been a few months at Fairfax Lodge, and that before that they had lived in Yorkshire. "Being strangers in the place they were sadly perplexed on the subject of doctors, until the nurse told her mistress that she had seen me going in and out of Galvaston House. And this decided Mrs. Stanwell to send for me.
De most exquisite blush hangings, and a gas-fire, choost as natural " "Oh, hang it, Shepson, do you call that a studio? It's like a manicure's parlour or a beauty-doctor's. By George," broke off Stanwell, "and that's just what he is!" "A peauty-doctor?" "Yes oh, well, you wouldn't see," murmured Stanwell, mentally storing his epigram for more appreciative ears.
"How could I? I didn't know if I wanted to paint her." "My goodness! Don't you know if you vant three thousand tollars?" Stanwell surveyed his cigarette. "No, I'm not sure I do," he said. Shepson flung out his hands. "Ask more den but do it quick!" he exclaimed. Left to himself, Stanwell stood in silent contemplation of the canvas on which the dealer had riveted his reproachful gaze.
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