Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 February 1893 — A LAY FIGURE. [ARTICLE]

A LAY FIGURE.

It was a “private view” at the Academy. Like all private views the place was thronged. Surging from room to room, the people, with their fluttering catalogues, were like a sea dotted with whitecaps. In the east room a picture was attracting considerable attention. The artist had painted a scrub-woman stopping work to take a dram. Still on her knees, her head thrown back, oue coarse list held the bottle to her lips while the other rested on a pail at her side The puddles of dirty water, the filthy rags, all the slovenly details of the room, were reproduced with marvelous exactness. It seemed as if the very canvas might soil one's fingers. In front of the painting stood a group of men and one womau—Katherine

Strong. Probably no woman of thirty ever had received more offers of marriage than Katherine Strong. She lived, with her father, in the family mansion on Washington Square. She was known to be rich—very rich. There was, however, something so curiously repellant about her that the most daring fortune-hunter made his proposal by letter. It seemed impossible to speak of love to Katherine Strong. No man had ever dreamed of it, much less attempted it. “How docs this sample of realism strike you, Miss Strong?” asked one joung fellow, giving a twirl to his mustache. Katherine moved nearer the painting and gazed at it iu silence. She was plain, masculine in her ugliness; each gesture was awkward; her lace seemed roughhewn from a block of granite. “The man has power,” said she, briefly; “who is he?" Two or three were ready to answer the -question. “Manton Howard. Haven't you met him? He’s the most unpopular man in town; one of those fellows who makes disagreeable remarks, priding himself upon his truthfulness. His pictures are all in this style; realism, you know. He’d rather paint a mud-puddle than a lily, ejid he calls it being true to Nature. i’ll look him up, if you'd like to meet him. ShdJ I?” “Yes," said Miss Strong, laconically. She was a woman of few words. The party moved down the room. Not many of the other pictures were interesting. Katherine glanced at a few, and then signified her intention of goinohome. Several cavaliers darted, off to find her carriage. The one unfortunate left to entertain the heiress felt his courage ooze from every pore. To his delight Manton Howard appeared a few steps from them. “Ah! there is the great artist, Miss Strong," he whispered, hurriedly. “I’ll present him now, if you wish. Howard, dear boy, I’m glad to see you! Miss Strong—my friend, Mr. Howard. We’ve been raving about your picture, old man. Great thing, isn't it?” “Do you think so?” asked Howard, bowing to Miss Strong. The little man who had introduced them disappeared. “Not at all,” answered Katharine, coolly. “It interested me because it has an idea and is well painted. No one would think it great.” “In that you are mistaken. lam the artist, and 1 think it great.” There was a dead pause. After a dozen years’ experience as an heiress Katharine had formed the habit «t speaking but occasionally, and of wooer talking. Young men generally lathed to her. Howard was puzzled. He prided himself upon reading character, OjpaA haring no illusions, no enthusiasms, MOO aerer losing his temper—in fact, •pomfaanmerabie qualities. He was .

woman-hater, and cared nothing for money. the choice had rested with him he never would have met Miss Strong. If the conversation had opened differently he would have closed it ns soou as possible. Now it seemed as if Katherine had closed it. She stood looking at him, no signs of life in her face. It was the coldest face he had ever seen. Even the eyes, deepset and small, had not the redeeming quality of color. They were light gray; the lashes amounted to nothing; the eyebrows and hair, however, were dark. This scrutiny Katherine bore with complete indifference. Howard might gaze at her as long as lie chose—or at least until her carriage were called. And Howard did gaze at her. Something lay behind that extraordinarily inexpressive face. “Miss Strong," he said, abruptly, “you have given me an idea. We artists cannot afford to throw away such a gift. Will you sit for me?” Katherine moved slowly toward the door.

“Do you carry your realism to that extreme, Mr. Howard?" she asked. He had thought her cold; now she was icy. “I am considered blunt, Miss Strong; my enemies even call me rude. A great deal of time is wasted in conventionalities. I don’t believe in them. Why should I wait until I have known you a year before I ask you to sit for me? My idea would he lost. May I expect you at my studio by ten to-morrow morning?” “No,” answered Katherine; “this week is fully occupied. Next Monday you may call upon me and I will appoint the sittings to suit my convenience. Good afternoon.” licr carriage had been found. One cavalier outrunning the others, breathlessly hastened to offer Miss Strong his arm. Howard turned away smiling. “Even a sphinx has vanity. No woman ever refused to sit for her portrait. If I read the riddle before I paint the sphinx my picture will be a failure. She will interest me only until I fathom her. She must, therefore, iuterest me until the sittings are over.” This calm way of regulating his interests had given Howard years of selfish ease. He thought little about Miss Strong until he culled upon her on Monday to arrange for the sittings. But at the first one he found that, say or do what he would, she did interest him intensely.

“This is not to be a conventional portrait, Miss Strong,” he explained. "I shall want you to take a tiresome position, and I warn you that I am a slow worker. To begin with, let me tell you my idea. Look at this photograph. Now look into this mirror. Do you see the likeness?” TFig photograph was of a sphinx—the ordinury sphinx every child sees in its geography. But line for line, feature for feature, the face was Katherine Strong’s. After that morning, Howard transferred his interest from Miss Strong to his Canvas. He knew that what he had done was great, and he worked as he had never worked before.

“You’re doing a portrait for Katherine Strong, I hear,” said a friend, meeting him oue day. “I didn't know that sort of thing was in your line. What can you make of her?" “Make of her?” repented Howard, “I can do anything with her; I never have had such a model; she’s a perfect lay figure. She holds a position without moving a muscle, and I don’t have to talk a string of nonsense to keep her good-humored. Now that I thiuk of it, I don’t believe she ever was good-hum-ored.” He laughed amusedly. Good-humor did seem a ridiculous expression to apply to Katherine Strong. “You’re an extraordinary fellow,” said his friend; “for downright ugliness Miss Strong has no equal; but do you think she will like one of your realistic studies? You don’t know human nature. A plain woman is vainer than a beauty.” “Well, whatever she is, the picture is uppermost in my mind. I stake my reputation on it. I didn’t know I couid get up so much enthusiasm over anything.”

Howard was in a predicament when he next saw Katherine. For some reason or other he could not settle down to work. It was absurd that thinking about Katherine should make it impossible to paint. By abolishing her individuality lrom his mind, he had made great strides with his picture. Now that he had begun to notice her again, he could do nothing. “Pshaw!” he exclaimed, throwing aside his brush. “Miss Strong, it’s no use, my mind, is occupied with something else, and perhaps you’ll be glad of a rest to-day.” Katherine rose composedly. “Just as you please, Mr. Howard; good morning." “Oh! I don’t mean to hurry you away,” cried Howard. “Your carriage is gone, and you may as well wait for it as usual, I want to talk with you. I suppose I have your permission to seud this picture to the Academy in the spring?” “Of course; if you wish it.” Katherine went over to the easel. “It is better than your other work; is it not? How many more sittings will you need?” “It is not like,my other work,” said Howard. “You know my mrbit on is to pull down ideals. Truth is my hobby, and truth, in art, is realism. But I don't want to bore you with a lecture on art. Do you care for painting, Miss Strong?” “Yes; some painting. I think your portrait of me good.” “It is good, and it interests me more than anything I have done. You are an intellectual stimulant to me. Love is one of the ideals I consider absurd. I make no pretense of offering it to you, but Ido offer you my respect and ask you to be my wife. There is no reason why our lives should not be much more useful together than apart. Don’t you agree with me?”

Katherine’s face was impenetrable. “Yes, Mr. Howard, it would be a most sensible arrangement. I value truth, and believe you to be above marrying for money. Those two qualities I have not yet seen combined in oDe man. I should like to lead a useful life. As you -say we may accomplish that together. I will undertake it with you.” Her manner surpassed his in businesslike coldness. There was no fear of being bored by an emotional wife in such a woman. Howard was satisfied. “Katherine,” said he, with some hesitation—he was not a shy man, but it took courgc to address Miss Strong by her Christian name—“ Katherine, you are as independent as I: suppose, for the sake of the picture, we hurry our wedding. I have an order I must fill before the end of the month; after that I shall want you to pose, incessantly, and our being married will save much time and trouble.” “For the sake of the picture,” repeated Katherine, 6lowly; “yes, for the sake of the picture it would be best. I will marry you by the end of the month.” The next few days passed more quickly than Mr. Howard had expected. Be-

fore he knew It came the wedding, the crowded church, the conventional reception, and all was over. He and Kathe rine were man and wife. It was their second week of marriage. Howard had been painting steadily that morning, and now, tilting back his chair, he surveyed his work, weary but wholly satisfied. “I want to know when this is to end." It was Katherine who spoke; hut that voice, broken and passionate, could it have come from Katherine’s lips? “Katherine! What do you mean?” She had risen and had come over to him. The suppressed passion of years, swollen into a mighty flood, had broke down the barriers between her and humanity. Nature had made this woman on the heroic scale. For years Katherine had fought against Nature, stifled impulse, shunned friendship, distrusted every one. Now Nature had won the right of way; the floods had risen; the harriers were shattered forever.

“Manton, look at your picture; it is finished. You say it is great; but have you thought why it is great? You have painted more than you know. You have gone higher than you dreamed. There is a soul in that picture. Y'ou asked me to marry you after a few weeks’ acquaintance. You were abrupt, businesslike; you came to the point instantly. I was a good lay figure, you thought—ah! do not interrupt me; in society there are many kind friends to report little speeches such as that. You told me plainly that you despise love. You think it an ideal to be destroyed, and you are a realist, a lover of truth. I tell you you are not a realist; no realist could have painted that picture. You do not know your powers. You are incrusted with vanity. A curious vanity it is to want to be less than you really are! Your picture at the Academy pleased me because, tho’ coarse, it had something besides its brutal realism. I agreed to sit for you, and during those sittings, I studied you better than you studied me. Then you asked me to marry you. Manton, you never have asked me why I married you. Let me tell you; listen to me; look at me! I married you because I loved you. Stop! She laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “ I must go on. Do not move. Do not interrupt me, Manton. I have been as cold as ice all my life. I have not known what was in me. I have distrusted every one. I was born into a society that worshiped money. I had admirers because I had money; all my life I have loathed money. Do you know, Manton, that nobody has ever loved me ? ”

She shivered. The break in her voice was more pathetic than a sob from another womau. Once having bared her soul, Katherine would not spare it a torture. “I have longed for some one, some creature, to love me; and then I have repelled them all. You did not pretend to love me; you admired the face others thought hideous. Do not think I deceive myself. I know you admire it because you prefer hideousness to beauty; but I was weak enough to be gratified that you saw something in my ugliness. Now look again at your picture. There is more in me than ugliness; the picture testifies to it. So much for myself; Manton. what of you? “You have lived on the surface oi your nature as an ignorant man lives on the earth’s crust, knowing nothing of the fires, the forces, the wonderful secrets that lie hidden beneath him. You havemade a garden of your life. You have arranged your likes, your dislikes, your pleasures, as you pleased. You have dug into your nature only deep enough for your trivial daily wants. Had you dug deeper you would have struck gold. Oh! my husband, I believe it; for I love you!’’

The blood rushed to Howard's face: lie breathed quickly, unevenly. 11c (lid not stir or speak. Katherine faltered, and then faced him with simple dignity. “Manton, I can be of use to you, if you can love me. I too have been weak enough to trust in my own strength. 1 thought that I could force you to lovt me. To-day 1 think differently. Yoi must understand me when I say I cannot live like this; 1 must leave you. 1 will go back to my father’s house. I have shown you my heart, and I see 1 have touched yours. Do not pity me— I have enough strength left to spurn youi pity; but if ever you can love me anc need me, if ever your soul strains, yearns, craves for me as mine does for you, ther recognize that feeling as love. You have been selfish in your life; you may have been loved, but you never have felt love. ‘I have been selfish also, in my way, but no one has ever loved me; no one has ever told me how to love. God put it into my soul; Nature taught me what he meant.”

Her soul was in her eyes, in her face, in her voice, as she spoke. Her words, like molten lava, had fallen drop by drop burning, destroying, the superficiality ol her husband’s nature. In bearing hei heart she had bared his, and out of the shame of his wasted years he saw arise the promise of a nobler future. But Katherine? He must have Katherine. He could not lose her. He had just found tier. Now he understood the interest she had excited in him from the beginning. Now he knew why her glance could thrill him, why he oould not bear to have her go. A mist swam before his eyes. Indistinctly he could see Katherine move toward the door. He sprang to his feet. He caught and held her. “Katherine,” he said—“ Katherine, 1 love you!”—[Annie Flint, iu Independent.