The morning call., 1893-09-10
THE PORTRAIT OF PHILLIS.
An Artist Who Truly Loved and Kept His Word at
the Cost of His Life

dressed than usual and his manner was
less composed. He dried the brushes
which had stood in water all night, mixed
some paints and fixed an easel midway in
the room. On this he placed portrait,
which he critically examined and severely
Judged. for on no previous work had be
brought to bear such force of skill begot-
ten of practice, experiment and labor.
The canvas he surveyed represented a
girl not yet in her twentieth year, the
curves of whose figure were full, delicate
and graceful. From the shapely shoulders
rose a firm and rounded throat, on which a
small and beautifully shaped head was
delicately posed. The face had all the
charm and softness, the hope and vivacity
Of youth; the complexion was daZzlngly
fair, the ripping mass of hair red-gold. the
nose straight. the chin peaked and dim
pied. while the lips were small and pout-
ing, and the eyes of a graysh green.
The artist locked at it from every point
Of view, his dark face changing expression
continually, and then turned away impa-
tiently. for his work by no means satisfied
him. He walked about the studio fever
ishly. pausing now and then as If to hear
a sound he expected, and finally glanced
at his watch. 1t was now twenty minutes
past the hour, and his sitter had not ar
rived. he went TO a great window which
opened to the ground and looked out at
the garden. A flock of sparrows he daily
fed were hopping about the grassy lawn,
now frightened by the sunshine OF TINS
April morning; the spring green OF bud-
ding shrubs and trees made delicate StreakS
of color against the red roof OF neigh
boring studio; at the far end was the ten
mis- court, where he had placed balls and
rackets we'll within view for purpose OIL
his own.
Suddenly a bell rang loudly. He started
and could scarce restrain himself from 60
ing forward; he waited. however, Tor a
couple of minutes, when the door OF the
studio opened and the original of the por-
trait entered calmly, deliberately and WIFE
a self-pOssessed air, followed by her
younger brother. who, when she was not
accompanied by her maid, acted as chap
eIon during her sittlngs to the artist.
81 hope Pm not late? she said, looking
at a little jeweled watch set in bracelet.
and seeing she was half an hour behind
the appointed time, but the morning was
so fine Billy and thought we would walk
across the park instead Of driving"
''Im glad you're not LATER" Oliver Or
mand answered, all traces OF his impa-
tience vanishing and only signs OF his
pleasure at seeing her remaining.
II told Pbillis yoa'd be waiting, re-
marked the boy. "but she said it didn't
matter"
His sister gave him glance that might
have annihilated one OF his sex who had
not the privilege Of being her brother, but
Billy, taking no notice, turned away.
Nor does it matter" replied Oliver Or
mand good humoredly.
Phillis Cromarte took off her gloves,
flung aside her cloak and sat down in the
armchair placed upon dais. Il know
the position | am to assume by this time,
she said in a voice that was clear and
sweet, if somewhat cold and emphatic.
Il must strive to finish your face to-
day." the artist remarked.
Then I'm to stare at that plaster-cast
hand in the cOrner?"
IF you please; the chin little higher
thanks"
He set to work, and she began to think.
How patient he was. and not in the least
cross because she had wasted half an hour
Of Hme that was valuable to him. And
NV glad he felt TO have seen her, even
Cough they had met two days before; his
IS had given her welcome which his
faos had not expressed. He loved her, for
a had told her so. and she liked MIN as
tyen, nay. better than any other man; but
SIZE would not pledge herself to become
his wife. Ambitious and energetic. she
from an early age had determined TO shape
her own career and mount the social
less of the opinions of others. Oliver Or
mand was an associate, some time later he
might become an academlclaD, and a his
wife she would be a person OF Importance
in artistic circles. But there was another
sphere In which she wished to reign. The
artistic world was we'll enough in It's way,
but the aristocratic world was higher. A
title carried weight, there was something
in nobility that impressed, and she be-
Iieved herself created TO take her place in
its ranks.
Nature had favored her with a shapely
figure and beautiful face. She had never
experienced difficulty in winning the ad-
miration she desired; her fortune was
large, and her family had been people of
gentle birth for generations.
She had the dangerous gift of imagina-
ton, which, welded to am bition, fires the
soul with fever. Therefor she had
dreamed of being the center and sovereign
of salon where she received royalty, in
fuenced diplomatists, created cabals. over
threw governments, and was recognized as
a powerful alley and dangerous foe. The
husband, whose aspirations she was to
stimulate and whose worship she was to
accepr, often figured in those dreams as cid
and imbecile but of ducal rank and of
wealth beyond estimate; for love had little
place in her heart, and for domesticity she
cared nothing.
Quite recently she had met Lord Edge
hill, who would one day Inherit his fathers
title of Marquis of Bosworth. Before
knowing who he was she had described
him 10 her brother Jack as "a sereamingly
funny little man, all eyegIass and shirtcol-
lar" but on his being introduced TO her as
Lord Edgehll she had changed her mind
regarding his appearance in which she
ceased to see anything ridiculous. Hence
forth she set herself to rouse his admra-
tion and to win his affection, If such was
TO be found in his nature.
While Oliver Ormand worked in silence.
Billy Cromartie, his hands deep in his
pockets, wandered round the studio aim
lessly, until, coming TO the window and
catching sight OF the rackets in the tennis
court. he asked if he might knock the balls
about.
Certainly" said the artist. striving to
conceal the pleasure he felt at getting rid
of the lad.
Thanks; we're going to play the More
lands in the afternoon, and l shall be glad
to practice" Billy explained, as he
bounded out on the lawn.
''Are you tired? ?" the painter inquired
Of his sitter
"a little," she replied.
''Then you may rest for FIVE minutes
She looked at the canvas and smjled
with an air of satisfaction. "Do Won think
it reaIlv like me 2V she asked