Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1913-01-10


They went back to the drawing
room. Eric Sake took his departure
shortly after, and Bee bade farewell TO
her guardian, who was to leave TOT
New York at an early hour next morn
ing.
MY dear" he said to her at parting
don't let Charlotte Vann inoculate you
with her passion for art and artists, or
her admiration for foreign barons. You
have good sense, and dare say you
will need 1t all in this household.
will come and see you occasionally
"Have no fear for me-" Bee answer
ed, blushing and laughing; but guardy
Won look Ill and worried-you have not
seemed like yourself Of late. Why Will
YOU not stay here with me? I am sure
you need the rest"
Impossible, my dear! You do not
know what you say. There Is no rest
for men like me. Kiss me and say good
by. II you grow homesick you can send
me word and will come and take you
away
Bee went to bed and to sleep. When
she opened her blue eyes next morning
the storm was past. The sun shone
cloudlessly on shore and sea, on the
cliffs and the beach, and the elegant
avenues lined with cottages OF every
description-French, Swiss, Elizabeth
an, Gothic, Italian.
To-day my life begins" she said to
herself. gayly. To-day the world fairly
opens before me-al In sunshine, too'
which is nice and prophetic, I'm sure.
She made a pretty morning toilet and
went down to find Charlotte Vann. A
French maid met her at the head OF the
stair.
"Mademoiselle is in her studio" she
announced. "She wishes you to come
to her there"
Bee followed the servant, vaguely
wondering.
Miss vann's studio was delightful
room. with appointments Of the costli-
est description, as befitted the taste
and purse of this amateur in art. The
walls were lined with pictures, and
white images Of Bacchuses, fauns'
cherubs, cupids and angels looked down
from every nook and corner.
As Bee entered Miss Vann was sit
ting at an easel, brush in hand, In
costume which had been copied evi-
IDENTIFY from Rosa Bonheur. Her black
eyes were rolling in fine frenzy.
Her sallow face, with its faded tints
and dark downey upper lip, beamed
with as much delight in her work as II
the genius of Rubens or Rembrandt
inspired her.
MY dear child, welcome to my little
atelier," she cried, looking carefully at
the colors on her palette, this is my
favorite time for painting. I give the
first fresh hours Of the day to art, the
rest to society. Examine my paintings
II you like. They are my children
Wherever 1 go take them with me
nothing can induce me to submit to
separation"
She waved her hand indulgently to-
ward the walls.
Bee was no critic, yet one good look
at Miss Vann's pictures convinced her
that they were, one and ALL feartul
daubs-that such rocks and sunsets
such beasts Of the field and fowls OF
the air as this rich, passee woman pro-
duced upon her canvas, mortal eyes
had never yet seen and never would
see. Wonderfully well were the colors
laid on-Miss Vann's enemies were
wont to whisper among themselves that
she painted with a shovel-and on the
easel was something worse than all the
rest-the marriage of Hector and An
dromache. To Bee it seemed, like
great blotch of purple and yellow. Vio-
let and red.
Miss Vann gave the speechless cir
a nod which meant to encourage hel
timidity.
"wen?" she queried; but Bee, who
was true itself, colored and remained
silent.
Fortunately Miss Vann altogether
misunderstood her emotions. She arose
with a radiant face and snatched hel
in her arms.
My dear child, you did not suspect
my powers! When you saw me las
night you thought me only woman Of
society-you did not guess the deeper
needs of my soul. You need not speai
silence is often more eloquent thar
words. 1t is delightful to be appreci
ated. You shall often come and 81
with me here, and see me work."
Bee was not required to give thank:
for this promised rapture. for before
she could speak Miss Vann went on:
The gentleman who dined with vi
last night-Mr. SAKE, you know-ah, N
is a genius, my dear. Did he not re
mind you Of Edgar .Ravenswood, o.
Manfred, or some Prince Perfect de
spoiled of his birthright? He is the las
scion of an ancient southern famil.
that was utterly ruined in the war. h
came to New York not long ago, pen
niless, friendless to study art, and II
that pursuit he has borne all sorts
privations and disappointments AM
sufferings-borne them like a here
poor fellow! though he would not car
to have me say it, for he has prid
enough for dozen men-that ole
stubborn, southern pride, that nothing
can kill. The first time l saw him n
was dying Of starvation and fever ii
an attic. However, his trials are owe
now. Some crayon heads, which h
executed in New York last season
brought him into notice. and he is fas
becoming the fashion. I have engage'
him to paint my portrait here at New
port. He is staying with an arts
friend in the old quarter of the tow
you shall go with me to his studio
some time. Did you notice his exceed