Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1895-02-24
LATTER.DAY GALATEA.

chiseled regularity, white, transpa-
rent skin, vened delicately like the
petal Of rose, and great gray eyes
under straight, dar6 brows, and long,
sweeping lasnes. Absolute perfection,
nothing less, and yet-and yeti was
perfection that chilled and saddened
you. She was like q snowy maiden or
marble scuipture-lovely TO the eye
but icy cold TO the touch. She had no
warmth, no glow, no tenderness. she
looked as Galatea might have looked
before Pygmalion's ardent kisses awoke
her TO passionate life and the knowl-
edge Of woman's soul.
Men raved about her beauty, but her
immobiity froze them, and they dared
not approach her. When she was
twenty-five she had never had lover.
No man had ever told her she was beau
tifu. No man had ever kissed her or
even touched her hand, save in the or
binary friendly greeting.
Then, when she was twenty-five, she
met Dick Vandeleur. Fate threw him
across her track, just by the merest &C
cident, and forgot to take him away
again. So he stayed.
Dick was twenty-five, too; man In
years, but boy in everything else.
Ardent, i'm petuous, careless, sanguine;
with all boys happy, hopeful belief In
himself and the unknown future,
boys trusting heart, and boys sunny
smile.
1t was a wonderful thing that smile
of his. No one could resist il. Men
invariably thawed before its genial
warmth, while Women-weIl, no woman
ever said "No" to Dick Vandeleur. He
was not the sort of man that women
said mo" TO.
Dick wore his nature lightly. He was,
by inclination and profession, an artist
As yet he only stood on the lowest rung
of the ladder of success, but ne had
keen desire TO climb TO the very top,
and he saw no reason why he should
not His vocabulary held no such word
as fail. He believed in himself. he be-
ieved in his art, and he believed "a the
future. Happy Dick!
Well, as l said before, fate threw him
across Patricia Campbel's path and left
him there. 1t suited him very we'll TO
be there, and he had no wish for fate TO
remem Der him and take him away, for
he found Patricia the most interesting
and fascinating wOman-from certain
points of vieu-that he had ever met.
The very qualities in her that repealed
other men attracted him. Perhaps it
was the force OF contrast, perhaps 1t
was an undercurrent Of sympathy, per-
haps-but what is the use OF speculat-
ing! In this tangled skein OF life there
are so many cross threads that, to all
appearance, start nowhere and 90 no
where; so many effects TO which we
can assign no cause.
Patrica's beautiful, impasSive face
set him thinking, and the second time
he saw he said in his casual way:
81 say, Miss Campbell, l want you 10
do something for me. I've got bright
idea-will you help me to carry 1t out?"
Patricia looked at him doubtfGlly. In
all her life no man had come TO her for
help before, and the novelty OF the stu
alton impressed her. She did not quite
know what TO say.
Help you?" she repeated in a dubi-
Gus tone, and then she added Can l?'
Rather" cried Dick. "Ishould just
| think you can--if you only will"
She was still looking at him in that
wondering way. Tell me how" she
said.
He went a step nearer and looked
down at her with his winning smile
You can sit for me-" he answered,
land you will, won't you? You don't
mind my asking you, do you?"
So the bargain was struck, and the
oddly assorted pair proceeded TO carry
il out
He painted her as Galatea, and the
work took long time and necessitated
great number OF sttings. Dick
spoiled a great many canvases, but that
was his way through life. He was al
ways throwing away his old canvases
and starting On new ones. IL was
habit be had.
Patricia displayed patience that
seemed inexhaustible. She never
fidgeted, never complained. When
once Dick had posed her she would
remain in the same position for any
length of time, and if she grew tired, or
cold, or cramped, she kept her secret
and he was none the wiser.
AT last the great work began 60 pro-
grsss, and Dick spoiled no more can
vases. He had got fairly under way,
and the successful realization of the
ideal was only question Of time.
i've never come anyway near this
before" he said to Patricia one morn
ing, II always hoped that some day
should paint picture that would make
me famous, and now | am doing it.
This will make me famous-and | shall
owe nv fame TO you"
"Am like that?" she asked.
Dick glanced at the living face at his
elbow TO the pictured face before MIN.
The likeness was exact. He had pOr-
trayed Patricia's i'm passive beauty with
rare and subtle skill. The waving glory
of the bright hued hair, the straight
lines of the finely chiselled features, the
pure tints of the velvety skin, the
serene Inconsistencies OF the clear,
gray eves-these things we're rendered
with a lifelike fidelity that was start
ling in its vivid repllsm. But beyond
and above all this he hsd seized upon
and emphasized that which is the key
note OF her persoDality-the marble
cold ness, the lack OF womaniy softnesS
and tenderness the absence OF soul that
nader her face so perfect realization
OF his ideal Gslatea.
"You are just liks that" he an
wered, with conviction,
Patricia was silent for moment,
them
81 do not know" she said slowly, and
her tone made Dick wonder Oh what she
could be thinking
Bnt he did not ask. He had found
long ago that asking Patricia questions
was rather an unsatisfactory occupa-
Jion.
"pvemaion OF old fell in love with
his own creation aud kissed il into life,
bo oriad 81 am sure | am not sur