The Olneyville tribune. (Providence, R.I.) 1893-189?, 1894-06-02
A PASTEL PORTRAIT.
BY KATE NJ. CLEARY.

stood at the window of the print store
and stared in at it, as he had done
everyday for the past week. The exc
cution of the work was not faultless.
Some crudities marred it, but the en-
semble was bewitching.
The face-that of a girl IL the first
fresh bloom of maidenhood-looke
back at you over one mistily-draped
white shoulder. The liquid eyes were
laughter-lit; the slightly parted scar
let lips had a shy droop; there was n
little, round dimple in the chin; the
hair that melted into the soft gown and
dusky background was wind-blown
tangle of reddish-gold.
Harwood had often determined to
enter and make an attempt to discover
the identity of the original of the pic
ture, but his courage had always failed
him. Today he forced himself to the
accomplishment of his desire.
He entered the store, shutting out
the whirling snowfakes behind him.
'Ts that picture-the pastal portrait
in the window-for sale?" he in
quired.
''No, sir" he was told.
"Can you tell me the name of the
orlginal?'
81 do not know it, ~. The por-
trait was left here as a sample to solicit
orders"
"You are sure it is a portrait-not
merely an ideal head?"
"The artist said So"
"Give me his nSine and address,
please"
But when the rising young lawyer
had the slip safe in his pocket-book,
and was out again in the white winter
world, he began to feel uncomfortably
conscious that In this particular in
stance he was not acting with the dis
cretion on which he ordinarily prided
himself.
He was trihe troubled, too, by the
recollection of certain conversation
held with his aunt the pre- vious even
ing. She was the dearest old lady in
the world, and the most generous.
She had brought young Harwood up,
given him the best procurable educa-
tion and three years of European ira
vel. But on one point, the question
of his probable marriage, she was in
clined TO be dictorial.
$50 you refuse to meet Miss Fains-
worth, Frank?" she had asked.
GAS a suitor-yes, he replied posi-
lively.
He was rather tired of having his
aunt assure him that he never would
meet girl as beautiful, amiable, ac-
complished, altogether desirable as
Miss Fainsworth.
Frank, she asked, hastily, as a
startling possibility occurred to her,
"is there any one else?"
He hesitated She repeated the
question. He recalled the face in the
print shop window. He answered
truthfully.
"Yes," he said.
"What is her name, Frank?"
81 do not know"
She looked at him sharply.
"Whcre does she live?"
81 do not know that either"
Frank, " she said, in low voice,
"surely Gu have not been drink
ing?"
He laughed out boyishly.
"No, Aunt Mary; 1 don't drink.
But I'm afraid I'm nonsensically in
love"
He laughed again now as he recol-
lected the wondering dismay on his
aunt's face. A passer-by turned to
look at him. He had reached a row
of high, flat faced, dreary, red brick
houses. In one of these the artist
must live.
He found the number, rang the bell.
A surly woman with a smudge of SCOT
on her cheek opened the door.
"Mr. Vincent Brandt" asked Har-
wood.
Third floor back, she returned,
shortly.
She disappeared, leaving him to
find his way mp as best he could.