Arnold began to show the pictures in the portfolios. There were
sketches of peasant life in Norway and on the Continent; there were
landscapes, quaint old houses, and castles; there were ships and
ports; and there were heads--hundreds of heads.

"I said you might be a great artist," said Iris. "I am sure now that
you will be if you choose."

"Thank you, Iris. It is the greatest compliment you could pay me."

"And what is this?" she was before the easel on which stood the
unfinished picture.

"It is a scene from a novel. But I cannot get the principal face. None
of the models are half good enough. I want a sweet face, a serious
face, a face with deep, beautiful eyes. Iris"--it was a sudden
impulse, an inspiration--"let me put your face there. Give me my first
commission."

She blushed deeply. All these drawings, the multitudinous faces and
heads and figures in the portfolio were a revelation to her. And just
at the very moment when she discovered that Arnold was one of those
who worship beauty--a thing she had never before understood--he told
her that her face was so beautiful that he must put in his picture.

"Oh, Arnold," she said, "my face would be out of place in that
picture."

"Would it? Please sit down, and let me make a sketch."

He seized his crayons and began rapidly.

"What do you say, Lala Roy?" he asked by way of diversion.

"The gifts of the understanding," said the Sage, "are the treasures of
the Lord; and He appointeth to every one his portion."

"Thank you," replied Arnold. "Very true and very apt, I'm sure. Iris,
please, your face turned just a little. So. Ah, if I can but do some
measure of justice to your eyes!"

When Iris went away, there was for the first time the least touch of
restraint or self-consciousness in her. Arnold felt it. She showed it
in her eyes and in the touch of her fingers when he took her hand at
parting. It was then for the first time also that Arnold discovered a
truth of overwhelming importance. Every new fact--everything which
cannot be disputed or denied, is, we all know, of the most enormous
importance. He discovered no less a truth than that he was in love
with Iris. So important is this truth to a young man that it reduces
the countless myriads of the world to a single pair--himself and
another; it converts the most arid waste of streets into an Eden; and
it blinds the eyes to ambition, riches, and success. Arnold sat down
and reasoned out this truth. He