ell as the appearance of his portrait
in the magazines, had made of him a very exalted person in little Mrs.
Haney's eyes, and the interest he took in her was too subtly flattering
not to affect her. He seemed fond of the Captain, too, and often joined
them in their trips about the city, and the fellows who had known
Humiston in Paris and who did not know Bertha nodded knowingly. "Jerry's
amusing himself, as usual. I wonder who she is?"

He explained his poverty one day as he sat with her in the little
gallery where his paintings were hung. "The fact is, while other men
have been painting to order and doing 'stunts' for the Salon, I've gone
on refining, seeking new shades, new allurements, subordinating line to
color, story to harmony, till my work is sublimated beyond my public.
The people that bought my things once can't follow me; it is only now
and then that a man, or a woman _feels_ what I'm after--and so I live. I
hold all things beautiful to paint, America does not."

He liked her all the better because she did not try to say what she
thought of his pictures, and when she insisted on taking one of them
home he quickly stopped her. "I'm not asking you to take pity on me," he
sharply said. And in this lay the subtlest touch of flattery he had yet
used: the idea that she, an ignorant mountain girl, could be accused of
patronizing a man so distinguished, so gifted as he, moved her in spite
of all warnings. Why should she not use her money to help this wonderful
artist?

She insisted on a picture, and asked him to select one for her. "I've
got a big house out in the Springs, and I'd like something of yours."

"Not out of this collection," he declared. "These are not the ones on
which my fame rests. The ones that represent me are in the cellar."

Her eyes were wide in question. "What do you mean by that?"

"American dealers won't include my best things in the exhibit--they are
too 'direct.' They are stored over here in a warehouse. I'd like to show
them to you. Will you come?" he asked, with eager eyes.

And she, with a sense of being distinguished above the great public,
consented. Humiston rose animatedly. "Let's go over and see them now."

His gentle _camaraderie_, his eagerness, touched Bertha, and when he
took her arm to help her into the elevator or to make sure she did not
stumble at the crossing she was stirred--not as Ben's hand had moved
her, but her blood nevertheless palpably quickened. Was it not wo