Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-09-27
Asuarelle.

Always. in her not too distant child
hood, Ellen Atwood wanted to paint.
She had once voiced her secret longing
to the great aunt with whom she lived
as unpaid companion. 1t is significant
OF that relatives reaction that she never
opened her mouth on that subject again.
Therefore when she found herself
aged "a, alone, not her aunts heireSs,
as every one who had watched her slow
martyrdom had believed, merely lega-
tee to the tune of $1,000. she Did not
buy clothes or act fictionally. She
merely sailed for London to see the
Tate gallery.
whistler did it. She had absorbed
the tragic beauty, the whimsical frailty
of age in the, portrait of his mother.
She had never had mother to remem-
-, since her parents had been killed
together in railroad &C dent when
she was 8 years old. She had therefore
%Aopted the beauty of mothers and
etandmothcrs through the medium of
pAipt.
- ut when she arrived in England the
charm of miStS and obliterated horizons
felled her. She roamed the wet London
streets in an ecStacy flooded with the
beauty of what could not be expressed
in oil panther hitherto conception of
valid pictures. She became absorbed in
the water colOrs of Copley Fielding. She
trudged from her boarding house i'll The
dim old squares Of Bloomsbury to the
museum at South KenSington. She lost
the timidity of years as she bought
color box and materials 10 sketch. She
worked necessarily, always at fugitive
effects that eluded as she tried TO get
them. And finally she obtained permis-
sion to copy her adored masters in the
galleries.
She was so utterly inherent from the
tinNN n
travelling American that her presence
failed to arouse the many students
curiosity She was so small, So inSignifi-
cant. until one noted the big gray eyes
that saw so much in an elfin way. When
she had time to think she was rather
panic stricken. She hadn't the round
trip ticket the minister's wife had beg
ged her to buy; she had cut her moor
ings completely from the old drab life
and she felt akin to the fogs that drift
ed the streets, excepting when her very
healthy appetite and the alluring scents
of good food leaked through the doors
of the three refreshments rooms OF the.
museum and she remembered she was a
Wholesome young American woman &C
euStomed to three well-prepared meals
D day.
She loved to walk. Hence she escaped
bus fares She had plenty of clothes
CShe wouldn't wear mourning), but she
had felt able to stock herself on that
elastic account her aunt'S creditors
must by now have closed. Her aunt
had insisted she have proper clothes.
THAT was her only concession to the
pent-up youth of the wistful grand
niece.
Then one day she saw her funds were
getting appallingly low. She must do
something But what? She knew that
reading aloud was as unmarketable as
croquet Her great-aunt had taught
her to play croquet. She learned to
laugh at the funny things she had been
taught to do. She didn't know short
hand: she couldn't even use type
writer, since the great-aunt considered
it bad form to write social correspond
ence thereon and insisted on writing
her tradeSpeople ELLEN found that
word universal in England) herself.
There was only one thing to do. She
would seek an interview with the owner
of certain discreet little gallery where
"one-man shows were held and ask
him what he thought of her drawings.
OF course, if Ellen had known more OF
life and art she would never have con-
sidered such an idea. But she was quite
childish and even little pleasantly ex-
cited. Surely the great man could not
be more terrific than her great-aunt
AS a matter of fact he was a cynical
soul who, really loving his paintings,
was altogether bored by the antic issues