The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1910-04-08
THE EVENING STORY
His MASTERPIECES.
Genevieve Marie Boice.l

in the flmY crimson mist that arose
from the blazing logs.
The tense silence that had fallen be-
tween them lasted several minutes and
the girl clutched nervously at the folds
of her gown.
Now that the first outburst of emo
ton was over in which she had told
him plainly her opinion regarding his
lazy mode of life and idle pursuit of
pleasure, her courage fed. and she
stood by the great organ in the Ii
brary,- one hand resting on its worried
keys, trembling and afraid.
Meanwhile a mighty struggle was
going on in Paul Worthington's mind.
Had he not been born to the purple
and fine linen. fate might have made
Of him an artist of no small repute,
for during his college days he had
given evidence of an unusual talent
along these lines. But once free from
the influence of the halls of learning
the goddess of pleasure had claimed
him for her own. and, binding him
with her Silken cords. had banished
all useful occupations from his mind.
But now. under Marguerite's scorn-
full discourse on the utter uselessnesS
of his life. am bition stirred within his
heart like the flames that sometimes
burst from an apparently burned-out
log. And, although he seemed to be
watching with lazy interest the sparks
golden butterflies, he was secretly ad-
miring the slender gray-eyed girl who
dared to tell him the truth even at the
cost Of their friendship.
His farewell that night was cold
and almost formal. He barely touched
Marguerite's icy little hand and en-
tirely ignored the appeal in her wide
gray eyes. She longed to speak some
pride held her silent. And thus they
parted, she tremulous and frightened;
he stern and proud.
Society gossiped for the proverbial
nine days when the news OF Paul
Worthington's sudden departure to
Europe became known. 1t looked to
Marguerite Chantry for an explana-
ton, but none was forthcoming. And
no one dared to question the heiress
OF the Chantry millions, the girl who
held the social scepter in the hollow
of her hand
Days came and went and Marguer-
lite heard no more from Paul Worth
ington- She tried to persuade herself
that she was perfectly Indifferent to
his whereabouts, but her misty eyes
and tremulous lips bore evidence to
the contrary when his first letter ar
rived
"I have found my life work. he
wrote, land 1 am determined to carve
name for myself in the world of art.
My one ambition now is to paint a can
vas worthy of being hung in the Royal
Academy, and for this I am working
from early morning until almost twi-
light Daily the picture grows under
my touch until could almost believe IL
is by magic
Marguerite's eyes shone with pleas
ure. After all, was it not worth the
many lonesome moments she had spent
since he had left her in apparent anger
to know that he was to make some
thing of his life? She fell to dreaming;
of the time when his picture would
hang in the Royal Academy and the
world would speak Ibis name with
reverence, z4
Eagerly she watched for his letters.
and the disappointment was keen that
they were so few and irregular At an
other time he wrote:
The work is progressing rap
idly. Daily the canvas grows more
beautiful, but in this I must accord a
snare OF praise to the girl who is pos
ing for the figure in the picture for il
is often her quick. kindly smile and
soft glances of encoura cement that
urge me to bring the best art there is
IN me TO the surface. Like myself, she
is an American; and when the shadows
thicken and it grows too dark to paint,
we sit by the studio fire and chat about
Old friends and home, sweet home But
for this during the first days the lone
illness would have become unbearabIe
and think would have been tempt
ed to throw it up and go back to the
old life and (here the page turned and
Marguerite's eyes frightened expect
antIy) all my friends in the land OF
the Stars and Stripes
Marguerite quietly tossed the letter
on the blazing logs with scornful toss
of her head. Not a word about her
own sacrifice in sending him away
from her to make something of his life,
but only words of praise for the girl
who had so lately come into their
world.
Spring found the Chantrys in Europe.
They fingered longest in fair Italy, the
land of azure skies and golden sun
light, and the home of the old masters.
Their ancient paintings had a peculiar
fascination for Marguerite. and she
often round herself thinking of Paul
Worthington with a wistful tenderness.
and wondering If his name would ever
be classed among the famous painters
of pictures.
Upon their arrival in Rome they
found the city ringing with the praises
of an unknown artist named Clyde
whose picture was on exhibition in the
art gallery. Even the critics were silent
before it; there was not flaw in tie
exquisite painting.
At the first opportunity Marguerite
Chantry visited the gallery and wait
ed patiently until the crowd permit
ted her to stand in the line that viewed
the famous painting. There were other
pictures by the same artist hanging in
the room, but it was before this one
that the crowds fingered. This is his
masterpiece, they said softly, almost
reverently.
Gradually the crowd melted away and
Marguerite stood before the wonderful
picture. Like a dream sea stretched
the field of snowy daisies with flaming
hearts of gold. as if the dazzling white
ness of their petals had lured the gold
en- sun from it's home in the high
heavens and imprisoned it in their
hearts, and from this starry carpet,
like a spirit of the mist rose a slender
gray-eyed girl in filmy white; her arms
were flied with the pale. pure blossoms,
and half sadly. half tenderly, she gazed
on their snowy loneliness. A butter
fly exquisitely tinted and hecked with
gold. poised on one velvet petal as
il ready to take flight and yet loved
to linger amid such heartx- White