ved. She had such big, stary eyes too, absolutely
without any expression in them. To break the spell I would order things
I didn't want, just to get her out of the way for a moment or so while I
snatched a few unwatched bites. You know how it is? There's green corn.
Now I like to tackle that with both hands; but I don't care to be
closely inspected while I'm at it. I used to fancy that her gaze was
somewhat critical. 'Good heavens, Girl!' I said one day. 'Can't you look
somewhere else--at the ceiling, or out of the window?' She chose the
ceiling. It was a bit weird to have her stationed opposite me, her eyes
rolled heavenward. Uncanny! It attracted the attention of the other
guests. But it was something of a relief. I could watch her then.

"There was something fascinating about Faithful Fannie, though, as there
is about all unusually plain persons. Not that she was positively
homely. Her features were regular enough, I suppose. But she was such a
tall, slim, colorless, neutral creature! And awkward! You've seen a
young turkey, all legs and neck, with its silly head bobbing above the
tall grass? Well, something like that. And as I never read at my meals I
had nothing else to do but study that sallow, unmoving face of hers with
its steady, emotionless, upward gaze. Was she thinking? And what about!
Who was she? Where had she come from?

"A haunting face, Fannie's was; at least, for me. It became almost an
obsession. I could see it as I sat down to my work. And the first thing
I knew I was writing Fannie into my play. There was a maid's part in
it,--the conventional, table-dusting, note-carrying, tea-serving maid,
with not half a dozen words to speak. But before I knew it this
insignificant part had become so elaborated, I had sketched in Fannie's
personality so vividly, that the whole action and theme of the piece
were revolving about her--hinged on her. I couldn't seem to stop,
either. I wrote on and on and--well, by Jove! it ended in my turning out
something entirely different from that which I had begun. The original
skeleton is still there, the characters are the same; but the values
have exchanged places. This is a Fannie play through and through. And
it's good, the biggest thing I've done; but----" Once more Oakley shrugs
his shoulders and ends with a deep sigh.

"Rubbish!" says Mr. Robert. "You and your artistic temperament! What's
the real trouble, anyway?"

"As I've tried to make clear to your limited and who