, 1896-07-23
A BEAUTIFUL MAN.

he had that insolent, aggressive sort
Of beauty that makes people urn around
in the street and stare-the strong, fair,
God given beauty that even men like to
look ut.
He lived up to his beauty, ard for
his beauty and by his beauty. He looked
like a prince, a prince of some northern
saga-like Frithjof. the destroyer OF
gods. He looked like the impossible hero
of q penny novelette, written by u wom-
an.
He was one evening at Colonel and
Mrs. Wayne's. The music was COM
plicated, and the women were plain.
and he-wishing these conditions had
been reversed-sat with his elbow rest
ing on Il little table near him and hand
lifted up, looking at his nails. 1t soothed
him and prevented his yawninS from
becoming unmanageably frequent.
MAY I see them, too?" said a wom-
ans voice at his side. 1t was a clear
young voice, and when he turned around
to look at its owner he was disap-
pointed.
II am a painter" said she. land
understand beautiful hands She held
out one of her OWL, palm upward, as
she spoke, waiting for him to lay his
upon it. He did so smiling, not know
ing exactly what to say, and she bent
her head a little to IL side and looked
at it.
The daughters Of the house were play
ing u long duet.
"How dreadfully bored you are, she
said thoughtfully, without raising her
eyes; five yawns i'll ten minutes. You
may take back your hand. Thank you
He was again at u loss what to say.
He did not quite understand her, with
her pretty voice and her ugly face. He
would have liked to know what she
thought Of his hand. but it looked fool
ish to ask. So he sat still. staring at
her a%ggravating, untidy little profile.
The ugly little thing came up to him
before the evening was oven and lifted
her small hard face to his "Mr. Van
den Heuvel," she said in a pretty voice
that ought to have belonged to some one
else, II want you to come and see me
that is, ," she corrected laughingly, Il
want you to come and let me see you.
1 want to paint you. please" And here
u softening Of the pretty voice. "You
are 80 very beautiful! l am an exceed
need not fear to trust your beauty with
me-"
He went next day. and the day after
that and every day.
She never needed or cared about what
his thoughts Or his feelings might be.
She painted on, stopping sometimes to
clasp her hands in frank, heathenish
alteration before him. Your beauty
positively hnrts mel she would say,
pressing both her hands to her heart.
And if he turned pale she told him to
spoil her t;nts.
II love you" said Henri Pierre one
afternoon rs SHE bent over him with a
cardboard lotus lily in her hand.
Don't be foolish. DEAR" she said, re.
arranging her landscape.
Il love you," repeated N;rcissus.
Nov your curls are all tangled up
ront the wrong side, and it will take me
an hour to fasten the lilies on your
head" h said Grossly. And with light,
turpentiny fingers and with a long brush
in her mouth she patted him into shape
again. There, look down now and
smile"
"1shall try and catch smallpox" said
Henri Pierre, opening his eyes, ''or get
burned in a fire and be all Scared and
hideoes. Then you will love me for
something better than my beauty"
"Then shall not love you at ALL"
said the girl, with a decided little dab
OF the brush. "Co to sleep. Here comes
Diana"
1t was lot Diana. It was Lydia Love,
the poetess. who opened the door and
entered with the flash and dazzle Of her
young success. and Of her scarlet hat
and cloak.
My dear. you must lend him to
me, she said after she had kissed her
friend and stared at Henri Pierre until
ne shut his eyes again in self defense.
i have got an order for "a sonnets,
md my brain is absolutely dried up.
Lend him to me for three weeks. III
send him back unimpaired. Heavensl
What a face he hast"
He learned all her poems by heart,
land reoited them to her in the mornings
when she was too calm to write, lie
sat at her feet from morning to night
with the blue intensity Of his eyes fixed
on her willfnl face. and his heart broken
by her caprioious kindnesA
Il love you," he said.
She laughed. "Be content with the
gift of gifts the gods have blessed YOU
w~ith-your beauty-your improbable,
your perfect. your magnificent beauty"
Hang my be.Ityp' cried Henri
Pierre passionately. 81 want to be loved
loved for no reason-lovedi Not be.
cause my moss il straight, and my hair
browny yellow. and my eyes sky bluel
But loved with closed eyes, blindly, un-
reasonably"
:! am sorry" said Lydia, who had
nnfshed her twenty-fourth sonnet that
day; "but I cannot help You. And II
you take my advice You will never be
angry or In earnest about anything. Il
Apoils your ~featurea"
Mohi dice O Il STEELE % 1uesus..
Nua seps ss'uoccAts O n tens'nfrouts."
II wa not . boy, Il W. . youne eirl