The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1906-05-31

artist"
You mean that 1 have no talent"
replied, flushing. You are brutally
frank to say So"
"Would you want me to injure you
by misleading you?'
mo one can predict what one will do
should contne themselves to calling
our attention to defects in our works."
''Well then, your coloring in that
wood
"What wood?"
There" pointing.
"That isn't wood. It's sky
You don't mean it,
"Any other defects?'
''The haystack on the right
"You mean the cascade"
"Wrong again"
did not dare to speak. Tears We're
struggling into my eyes. and needed
all my attention to keep them back.
Besides, knew my voice would trem-
BILE.
He had the consideration to take his
departure. AS soon as he was gone
cried for awhile, then anger came. and
l vowed I would succeed in spite of
him. had been putting Oh the finish
ing touches to the picture he was
criticising, and it was practically fin
ished. l laid it away in corner and
went to work on another
A few days later dealer came into
my studio and asked if / had any pic
lures to sell cheap. l showed him sew
eral practice pieces, but he did not
want them. Seeing the picture that
had been so numerically criticised, he
offered me what / would, even before
the criticism, have regarded a fair
price for it, and l sold it to him When
he paid for it the next day he offered
me Il check that he had himself secur-
ed for it, asking me to give him his
commission in cash. since he had acted
as broker. | counted out the COM
mission. took the check and was about
to stuff it in my pocketbook when the
name of its drawer caught my eye 1t
was Herbert Whittlesey.
My first impulse was to call back the
broker and cancel the sale, but it oc-
CURED to me at once that would have
no right-indeed no ability-to do so.
/. was indignant that Herbert Whittlesey
should have soothed my wounded feel
ings with his charity-for that's what /
considered it-and had he come in to
my studio at the time / should have
given him piece of my mind" But
after awhile my feelings with regard
f-n t1,n ,n{t ton. ~,
treating me kindly in telling me the
truth as TO my lack of talent and buy
ing my daub? For the first time real
lied that loved him.
From the time he mistool my sky
for wood and my cascade for Il hay
stack was doomed to failure paint
ed on bravely, but as an artist l had
received my death wound One morn
ing he came into my studio when ! was
completely discouraged and suggested
give up art and marry him. l was
sood deal astonished, but perfectly
willing to acknowledge myself fail
ure and take up the more humdrum
role of wife.
When l received the congratulations
of my friends they were but congratu-
latiOns in name, for every one said
What pity. A genius is spoiled
''Deceivers,' l said you would
doom me to life of failure. It is the
man whom | am to marry who has
won my love by telling me the TRUTH
/ think that, on hearing this, most of
them We're convinced that they had
fal. In. low
sidered one of the best of art critics.
In due time we were married. Her
bert fitted up a house, indeed joined
him in selecting it's decoration, and Oh
returning from our wedding trip we
went to live there On entering the
living room l saw something hanging
Gu the wall that had not been there at
the time of our departure, something
that made me start. 1t was the picture
that Herbert had so numerically crit
icised, then bought.
Take that thing down." / said to
him, with hot cheeks
Thing? It's gem"
"What do you mean!'
I mean that wanted woman for
Iuy VIE. sic WAS III love Wlll nef ART
IL she had not been born to that art
her infatuation would not have trou.
bled me. AS it was, saw that either
must xii! her love for her art or il
would kill her love for me-"
| stood stock still in astonishment.
"And you have fooled me into loving
YOU"
"If you choose to call it So"
Herbert, you are deceiving me- That
picture is a daub.'
He went to a secretary and took out
a batch of letters and handed them tc
me. They were offers for the picture
from Dealers some of them being -four
times as much as he had paid me
for it.
/ threw my arms around his neck
he had won the last bit of my heart
There was no more to win. And yet
he had fooled me.
MARIE G. TREVOR.