Evening star., 1927-03-20


E TO HER.
chance which was taking him West.
He answered in grudging half-phrases.
Don't bother me about that now
Isabella. Here l am sweating blood to
get down what l see."
What do you see?" she asked him
smothering her pride.
What greens and pearls!' said
Jefferson Poole.
When she went back to the pose, he
drew a great sigh of relief. And ap-
peared to forget that she existed. Ex-
cept as sweet eyes and ivory flesh
behind Circean mesh of silk.
"Color"' said jefferson Poole. "Wait
till you see thisp'
EOR half an hour he worked desper-
ately and doggedly.
Isabel's heels hurt, and the muscles
of her shoulders, and the back Of her
neck-and her heart. She ached to
move, to bend, to turn-to release the
cruel strain on her body-and her soul.
When he said abruptly, II love your
mouth. happiness filled her as the tide
fills a pool on the reef.
But he began to whistle. while her
lips parted, and the next thing he said
was:
Curse the light-it's beginning to
go! Just when I'm right where need
it,"
At the end of half an hour he said:
Want to stop? I'm I'm bit of a jam.
Help a lot If you could hold out
while longer"
"I'll hold it," said Isabel-and did
Ii, L.
he offered later:
Like to rest now? This is going
better"
Then he pushed a chair forward with
a cropping hand. She sat and watched
him in silence. while he tinkered
raptly with his canvas. She might not
have been there at all
The heavy, frightened beating of her
heart hurt only her own breast. Over
and over she said to herself, 1.-TWO
hours more and he'll be gone" But
no one heard her.
When she went back and stood
against the table once more, he saw
her. AS If mist cleared between
them. His eyes caressed her, and his
voice. He said the most heavenly
things to her. Things about her hair
and her throat and her brows
She stood to hear them-that time
almost an hour-without f1inching. The
pain in her heels gnawed like a thing
with teeth. 1t ran up into her ankles
and the calves of her legs-made her
knees unsteady. And the pain in the
back of her neck was torture. Cramp-
ed and stiffening
But she would not ask to rest. She
thought, keeping her eyes on his face,
letting them speak If they would:
IF never see him again-he'll have
this-of me. I'll have done something
for him. I'll have given him some
thing. What is the matter with me?
I'd give him my soul-if l could l
am giving him my soul-to make a
picture of-and he's painting a scarf
instead.
Chin a little bit up" said Jeffer-
son Poole. Tricky little shadow there.
Blast the light-it's as good as gone!
Never mind" He sang very softly,
smiling at his own work: "Oh, how
I've waited for you"
Isabel almost cried out, Please
please don't''-the silly words stabbed
her so.
But all at once he put his brushes
down, put his palette down, wiped his
hands on a rag. and beckoned her.
Come and have a look-it's only a
sketch-but it's good!"
They stood before the easel together
He ran a hand through his hair, the
gesture she had always disliked. See
ing him now, hearing him now-now
that he was going away-now that in,
one short hour he would be gone-Isa-
bel knew the restlessness, the strain
in those thrusting fingers. and ached
only to quiet them against her breast.
What do you think of yourself?"
he asked her.
Her self - her painted self - was
strange. Ivory-fieshed, as he had said,
with swirl of sorcerous color for the
scarf. The lips were soft. The throat
was Satin-sWeet. The eyes Were-cru-
ely betrayed. Isabel hid them with
her two hands.
How could you" she said "Oh-
how could you.'
Beautiful" muttered jefferson
Poole. "Beautiful-isn't it?"
He added. catching her up to him
an afterthought of savage tenderness.
You should have seen yourself!
haven't half got you-yet"
x X X X
LIE barely made his six-something
train-but he made it. The pic.
ture he left with Isabel. In her apart
ment
'I'll be back in six months" he said
1T parting, "or you will come out"
The grandson of the overseer-to
Isabel She held up her face to him. |
Portrait of the Artists Wife" said |
Jefferson Poole. Like that better |
han the other? I've a notion, myself |
o call II Galatea."
She sobbed. and he kissed her again |
many times-for good-by.
When he had really gone. she picked |
up the purple scarf from a chair and |
arried it into her room; stood in the
middle of the floor. looking at it. Tears |
till in her eyes.
Three whole years it had lain in a |
rawer. She remembered the day she
lad bought tin a moment of i'm.
pulse, carelessly. foolishIy even. Not /
knowing when she was to wear it, nor
% what purpose. If she had
She could never go back to being
happy alone-now. Never again be
atisfied with her stodgy little books,
Ter thin little poems. Perhaps she
wouldn't even be able to go on writ
ng them. They'd seem too stodgy,
md too thin. to be worth the writing
fter this-perhaps. They'd be too dull
even to her.
In which caSe-no more comfortable
ncome. no more neat maid, and no
ozy apartment.
Portrait of the Artists Wife. Shiny
t the elbows-like the Artist His
yes came back to her-his husky.
singing-the rapt. reck-