Each day, he worked as he had
worked that first day--with no thought for anything save for his picture.
In the mornings, he walked with Conrad Lagrange or, sometimes, worked with
Sibyl in the garden. Often, in the evening, the two men would visit the
little house next door. Occasionally, the girl and the woman with the
disfigured face would come to sit for a while on the front porch with
their friends. Thus the neighborly friendship that began in the hills was
continued in the orange groves. The comradeship between the two young
people grew stronger, hour by hour, as the painter worked at his easel to
express with canvas and color and brush the spirit of the girl whose
character and life was so unmarred by the world.
A11 through those days, when he was so absorbed in his work that he often
failed to reply when she spoke to him, the girl manifested a helpful
understanding of his mood that caused the painter to marvel. She seemed to
know, instinctively, when he was baffled or perplexed by the annoying
devils of "can't-get-at-it," that so delight to torment artist folk; just
as she knew and rejoiced when the imps were routed and the soul of the man
exulted with the sureness and freedom of his hand.
Pages:
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330