Evening star., 1932-01-10
he @46st Mook/k

This picture, too, would have night for
background. Life something to be done
in pantomine and shadow. No one could en-
dure the starkness of the daylight. Ten years
had taught him that.
He had asked that all applicants should
come to him at that night. 1t was IL. And
a woman was at his door.
Her knock low. He opened the door
quickly.
You are Stanley Young, the artist9" she
asked.
He nodded
Your advertisement brought me-" the woman
went on. II think I old enough" She
removed the black veil and the man saw that
her hair was white, her face was creased and
her eyes
She turned and they were gray.
Gray" she said though she understood
his thought ut is a good color for age. 1t
has no vibrancy, no laughter. 1t is finished.
Caskets are gray. SO nuns dresses, and
rainy days. Not rainy nights May / sit
DOWN."
He hired her and asked her to return in the
morning.
Odd that he should be starting his second
masterpiece also with woman who had come
to him as the clock struck IL, he mused
woman with gray eyes that stood for rain
blurred memories, just as the eyes of another
woman had told of sunlight flashing through
a bright green Spring.
He knew that he going to do master
piece. He started to work He forgot the
woman. Forgot the passage of days. Forgot
everything except that once again there was
the singing flame of genius in his blood-the
desire to snatch something from unreality and
make 1t last, to take a transient mood and
hang it forever in corridor somewhere.
THE woman's eyes often roved beyond him.
That was it should be. She was
watching something invisible. At last, though,
he turned to see. The portrait of the dancer
stood where she could it. He had never
sold it, and he seldom covered it.
''The girl was very beautiful" he said
simply
"She must have BEEN" the woman answered.
"I wonder if she found the joy she sought.
I cannot believe that she did. SO few are
able to-"
One day, when the picture was nearly DONE
the model came close to the first portrait and
eyed it critically.
Have you ever seen Corrinne Corray
dance?" she asked abruptly.
"Corrinne Corray? I've heard of her often
enough, but have never seen her. Why?"
"She reminds me of your portrait That
eagerness she reaches for life It's drifting
out to sea, but she doesn't know 1t. Go to see
Corrinne Corray some time You'll like her
Not until the woman had asked him the third
time if he had gone to see the dancer did he
picture was good and he could afford to be
generous with his time.
At the first notes Of the music he slipped
back to the past. A sylvan melody was call
ing. An orange NOON trembling at the
edge Of purple sea. A girl who laughed
came running down the sands.
Strange fantasy, Of course. But as the
woman danced the belief grew stronger. Why
had the old woman been SO anxious for him
to see Corrinne Corray dance If she wasn't
Marguerite? Why had the woman come to
him at that hour If some one had not sent
her for purpose? Had 1t been because the
girl wanted to lead him back again?
The music was growing softer An orange
moon swung down from the sky shining
path ran down to the stage The dancer
fitted up and swayed on top of the shining
ball
There his picture! He would get to
Marguerite. Corrinne Corray, she
called herself now and ask her 70