Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 2.djvu/834

826 stowy,—always the same old humbugs to be admired,—always a doosid boah."

"One relief you must have had in the galleries," retorted Easelmann; "your all-round shirt-collar wouldn't choke you quite so much when your head was cocked back."

Adonis-in-bag adjusted his polished all-rounder with a delicately gloved finger, and declared that the painter was "a jol-ly fel-low."

The gentleman who had blushed a moment before, when the picture was criticized, was still within earshot; he now turned an angry glance upon the last speaker, and was about to cross the room, when Mr. Easelmann stopped him.

"With your permission, Miss Sandford," said the painter, nodding meaningly towards the person retreating.

"Certainly," replied the lady.

"Mr. Greenleaf," said Easelmann, "I wish you to know some friends of mine."

The gentleman so addressed turned and approached the party, and was presented to "Miss Sandford, Mr. Sandford, Mrs. Sandford, and Mr. Charles Sandford." Miss Sandford greeted him with her most fascinating smile; her brother shook his hand warmly; the other lady, a widowed sister-in-law, silently curtsied; while the younger brother inclined his head slightly, his collar not allowing any sudden movement. In a moment more the party were walking about the room, looking at the pictures.

When at length the Sandfords were about to leave the room, the elder gentleman said to Mr. Greenleaf,—

"We should be happy to see you with our friend, Mr. Easelmann, at our house. Come without ceremony."

Miss Sandford's eyes also said, "Come!" at least, so Greenleaf thought.

Mr. Charles Sandford, meanwhile, who was cultivating the sublime art of indifference, the distinguishing feature and the ideal of his tribe, only tapped his boot with his slender ratan, and then smoothed his silky moustaches.

Greenleaf briefly expressed his thanks for the invitation, and, when the family had gone, turned to his friend with an inquiring look.

"Famous, my boy!" said Easelmann. "Sandford knows something about pictures, though rather stingy in patronage; and he is evidently impressed. The beauty, Marcia, is not a judge, but she is a valuable friend,—now that you are recognized. The widow is a most charming person. Charles, a puppy, as every young man of fashion thinks he must be for a year or two, but harmless and good-natured. The friendship of the family will be of service to you."

"But Marcia, as you call her, was depreciating my picture not a minute before you called me."

"Precisely, my dear fellow; but she didn't know who had painted it, and, moreover, she hadn't seen you."

Greenleaf blushed again.

"Don't color up that way; save your vermilion for your canvas. You are good-looking; and the beauty desires the homage of every handsome man, especially if he is likely to be a lion."

"A lion! a painter of landscapes a lion! Besides, I am no gallant. I never learned the art of carrying a lady's fan."

"I hope not; and for that very reason you are the proper subject for her. Your simplicity and frankness are all the more charming to a woman who needs new sensations. Probably she is tired of her blasé and wary admirers just now. She will capture you, and I shall see a new and obsequious slave."

Greenleaf attempted to speak, but could not get in a word.

"I felicitate you," continued Easelmann. "You will have a valuable experience, at any rate. To-morrow or next day we will call upon them. Good morning!"

Greenleaf returned his friend's farewell; then walking to a window, he took out a miniature. It was the picture of a young and beautiful girl. The calm eyes looked out upon him trustfully; the smile upon the mouth had never seemed so lovely. He thought of the proud, dazzling coquette, and then looked upon the image