leaves of the
surrounding trees gave the shadowed face life. In the clear stillness
of the eyes, something had been caught of the wonder that was latent
in Christian's look, the absorption in things far away, seen inwardly,
that in childhood had set her in a place apart; rarer now, but still
there for those to see who could give confidence to her shy spirit to
forget the limitations of this world, and to stray forth to meet
invisible comrades from other spheres. Sometimes it has been given to
an artist to rise, not by his conscious volition, above his wonted
power; to portray one beloved face with the force of his emotion
rather than that of his capacity, transcending the limits of his
ordinary skill, just as a horse will put forth his last ounce of
effort in response to the magnetism of one rider, and may never again
touch the same level of achievement.

But although the very fact that in this canvas something had lifted
Larry's art to greatness, made it for Mrs. Dixon a mystery and a
bewilderment, she had no intention of admitting defeat. After a moment
or two of silence, she cast up her eyes in an appeal to what seemed to
be a familiar near the ceiling, and said in impassioned tones:

"Well, well, isn't that lovely?"

The familiar apparently confirmed the opinion, for she repeated, with
a long sigh: "Wonderful altogether! I could be looking at it all day!"
She turned to Christian with profound deference. "And what might it be
intended to represent, Miss?"

Larry, who had picked up a cue, and was knocking the balls about, gave
a short and nettled laugh.

"Oh, Dixie!" said Christian, suffering equally with artist and critic,
"don't you see, it's a picture of me!"

Mrs. Dixon took the blow gallantly.

"Well, wasn't I the finished fool to forget my specs! I that couldn't
see the harp on a ha'penny without them!"

"Don't worry, Dixie," said Larry, smacking a ball into a pocket; "I'm
not surprised you didn't recognise it--it's not half good enough."

"Master Larry, my dear," returned Mrs. Dixon, whose social perceptions
were more acute than her artistic ones, "I'll go bail there isn't one
could take Miss Christian's picture the way you could, you that was
always her companion!" She moved away from the easel, and murmuring;
"and, please God, always will be!" she rustled away down the long
room. Mrs. Dixon, indomitable Protestant though she was, did not share
Evans' opinion of Larry.

Larry threw down the cue a