The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1898-10-23
Copyrighted. 1898. by Walter Besant

He was received in a small, lofty room.
which might have been the breakfast room
but was scantily furnished, with little more
than a table and two or three chairs. The
lady who had invited him to paint the por-
trait received him.
Il am glad,' she said. extending frigid
hand, that you have found yourself able
TO come"
She looked anything but glad. Her face
was set like marble, with an expression
which never varied there was no sunshine
in it. no possibility of a smile, no light in
IT. On the other hand, there were none
Of the signs of discomfort or of rebellion
Life had no Joy for her: that could be read
in her face at first sight and continued to
be read whenever one considered that face
again. A handsome woman about forty
years of age, dressed in black silk with a
f. suspicion OF widows weeds. What was the
story of this woman? Why did she look SO
frigid? Why had the sunshine gone out Of
her face?
The portrait painter was quite a young
man, with distinguished appearance, for
which perhaps his ancestry were not re-
sDonsible. The finest ancestry do some
times produce the most undstinguished an
pearance. He. however, looked as if he
were descended from all the Howards In
addition to a distinguished appearance this
young man was acquiring a distinguished
manner, with some air of dignity and the
beginnings OF authority - most enviable
possession. But the portrait painters ap-
pearance and manner have nothing to do
with this story.
Il understand" he said. "that 1t is your
daughter whose portrait you wish me to at
tempt"
My daughter. She is engaged to be mar
ried. Her tiance is abroad at present, but
he comes home in May or June, when the
wedding will be celebrated" In her voice
there was percephble a slight hesitation
as if she was afraid of something, or uncer-
tain about something, or anxious about
something. Il wish to have the portrait
before the wedding takes place"
1t was then about in the afternoon of a
January day. The place was country
house, not very ancient or picturesque; a
square hall built some time in the last CEN
fury, adorned with pediment and pilasters
in front terrace. at the back gardens, all
around 1t a park; the house which we set
down naturally to a country family.
The young mans spirits fell as he stood
before his frigid hostess. and thought of the
bare hall in which he had been received
and the echoing footsteps, and the gaunt
breakfast room where he was standing.
However, he had come on business, and
there was nothing more to be said.
Il will show you.' said the lady, ''the
place which will be your studio. We must
40 at once if we wish to catch the day
light"
She led him across a great bare hall. 1t
ought to have been laid with mats and
skins; the walls should have been covered
with spears. pixies swords and tapestry
there should have been armor and coats of
arms; the empty fireplace shUuio nave been
cleaning with androns and piled up with
blazing logs. There was nothing: the hall
was quite empty of furniture or ornament
The broad staircase should have had a
broad thick carpet; it had nothing
but narrow strip of common
stair carpet, such as one finds in a
little villa. On the landing there were
marks as if pictures had been hanging in
the panels. but there was nothing; the stair
carpet came to an end, and one walked on
the echoing boards
The lady led her guest into gallery, run
ming along the whole length of the house:
a narrow gallery, but cheerful with the row
of lofty windows. On the lower part of the
brass wires so that no one should read any
of the books. But they were gone; the
shelves were empty. Above, in the panels.
were portraits i'm OIL for the most part of
very inferior production. 81 am brought
here" thought the artist ito add one more
to this very second-rate collection. 1t is not
complimentary
This was the library" said the lady "un-
til the books were taken away. 1 think YOU
will find good light at the north end ror
your studio. My daughter will meet you to-
morrow morning. Perhaps you would like
to make your arrangements at once. In
readiness. Your room is the door next 10
this, on the right. Your things have been
taken up"
She left him in the library: the painter
easily found his own room, brought out
the easel and his tools, arranged his cam
vas and put out his palette and paints
at that end of the library which afforded
him the best light. This little ARRANGEMENT
took him some time; before he had fin
1shed the early evening had fallen upon the
place.
When everything was ready he sat down
in a window seat and looked about him.
There We're about twenty portraits on the
walls, representing men and women chiefly
of the last century. Being himself a por-
trait painter. this young man was not in the
least astonished to find the faces in the
picture frames beginning in the twilight to
assume queer shapes and strange express
sions. Some of them threatened vindictive-
ly-why? Some of them scowled jealously
why? Some looked Indignantly upon the
young man-was it not jealousy of the
artist?
One picture attracted his attention more
than all the others put together 1t was
the portrait of a girl. In the declining light
he could see that the picture was very poor
~ and mechanically painted, but even a
bad artist could not disprove the fact that
he was painting very remarkable face-a
face quite out of the common: not beautiful
in the ordinary sense of the word but love-
ly; full Of soft sweetness. with eyes such
as might drive a man to even madness with
yearning for them.
He stood before this picture trying to
make out what it would be like If the artist
had been able to endow it with life 1t grew
almost dark; suddenly the face seemed to
stand out of the canvas. the eyes which
were there would follow one round the
room; they became filled with a strange
light. 1t seemed to the young man as If
they challenged admiration trl,lv fa,,o,