The Fortunes of Oliver Horn [153]
news to-day, Madge," Oliver exclaimed, after they had all taken their seats, his father on Margaret's right, with Nathan next.
"Yes, and I have got lots of good news too; bushels of it," laughed Margaret.
"You tell me first," cried Oliver bending toward her, his face beaming; each day they exchanged the minutest occurrences of their lives.
"No--Ollie--Let me hear yours. What's it about? Mine's about a picture."
"So's mine," exclaimed Olive; his eyes brimming with fun and the joy of the surprise he had in store for her.
"But it's about one of your OWN pictures, Ollie."
"So's mine," he cried again, his voice rising in merriment.
"Oh, Ollie, tell me first," pleaded Margaret with a tone in her voice of such coaxing sweetness that only Richard's and Nathan's presence restrained him from catching her up in his arms and kissing her then and there.
"No, not until you have told me yours," he answered with mock firmness. "Mine came in a letter."
"So did mine," cried Margaret clapping her hands. "I don't believe yours is half as good as mine and I'm not going to wait to hear it. Now listen--" and she opened an envelope that lay on the table within reach of her hand. "This is from my brother John--" and she turned toward Richard and Nathan. "He and Couture, in whose atelier I studied, are great friends. Now please pay attention Mr. Autocrat--" and she looked at Oliver over the edge of the letter and began to read--
"Couture came in to-day on his way home and I showed him the photograph Ollie sent me of his portrait of you-- his 'Tam-o'-Shanter Girl' he calls it. Couture was so enthusiastic about it that he wants it sent to Paris at once so that he can exhibit it in his own studio to some of the painters there. Then he is going to send it to the Salon. So you can tell that 'Johnnie Reb' to pass it along to me by the first steamer; and you can tell him, too, that his last letter is a month old, and I am getting hungry for another."
"There now! what do you think of that? Mr. Honorable Mention."
Oliver opened his eyes in astonishment.
"That's just like John, bless his heart!" he answered slowly, as his glance sought the floor. This last drop had filled his cup of happiness to the brim-- Some of it was glistening on his lashes.
"Now tell me your good news--" she continued, her eyes still dancing. She had seen the look but misunderstood the cause.
Oliver raised his eyes--
"Oh, it's not nearly as good as yours, Madge, in one way and yet in another it's a heap better. What do you think? Old Peter Fish wants me to paint his daughter's portrait."
Margaret laid her hand on his.
"Oh, Oliver! Not Peter Fish! That's the best thing that has happened yet," and her face instantly assumed a more serious expression. "I know the girl --she will be an easy subject; she's exactly your type. How do you know?"
"Just saw John Snedecor in answer to a letter he wrote me. Fish has bought the 'Woman in Black.' He's delighted with it."
"Why, I thought it belonged to the Countess."
"So it did. She sold it."
"Sold it!"
"Yes. Does it surprise you?"
"No; I can't say that it does. I am glad, though, that it will stay in the country. It's by far the best thing you or anybody else has done this season. I was afraid she would take it back with her. Poor woman! she has had a hard life, and it doesn't seem to get any better, from what I hear."
"You know the original, then, my dear?" asked Richard, holding out his second cup of tea for another lump of sugar, which Margaret in her excitement had forgotten. He and Nathan had listened with the keenest interest to the reading of John Grant's letter and to the discussion that had followed.
"I know OF her," answered Margaret as she dropped it in; "and she knows me, but I've never met her. She's a Pole, and something of a painter, too. She studied in the same atelier where I was, but that was before I went to Paris. Her husband became mixed up in some political conspiracy and was sent to Siberia, and she was put across the frontier that same
"Yes, and I have got lots of good news too; bushels of it," laughed Margaret.
"You tell me first," cried Oliver bending toward her, his face beaming; each day they exchanged the minutest occurrences of their lives.
"No--Ollie--Let me hear yours. What's it about? Mine's about a picture."
"So's mine," exclaimed Olive; his eyes brimming with fun and the joy of the surprise he had in store for her.
"But it's about one of your OWN pictures, Ollie."
"So's mine," he cried again, his voice rising in merriment.
"Oh, Ollie, tell me first," pleaded Margaret with a tone in her voice of such coaxing sweetness that only Richard's and Nathan's presence restrained him from catching her up in his arms and kissing her then and there.
"No, not until you have told me yours," he answered with mock firmness. "Mine came in a letter."
"So did mine," cried Margaret clapping her hands. "I don't believe yours is half as good as mine and I'm not going to wait to hear it. Now listen--" and she opened an envelope that lay on the table within reach of her hand. "This is from my brother John--" and she turned toward Richard and Nathan. "He and Couture, in whose atelier I studied, are great friends. Now please pay attention Mr. Autocrat--" and she looked at Oliver over the edge of the letter and began to read--
"Couture came in to-day on his way home and I showed him the photograph Ollie sent me of his portrait of you-- his 'Tam-o'-Shanter Girl' he calls it. Couture was so enthusiastic about it that he wants it sent to Paris at once so that he can exhibit it in his own studio to some of the painters there. Then he is going to send it to the Salon. So you can tell that 'Johnnie Reb' to pass it along to me by the first steamer; and you can tell him, too, that his last letter is a month old, and I am getting hungry for another."
"There now! what do you think of that? Mr. Honorable Mention."
Oliver opened his eyes in astonishment.
"That's just like John, bless his heart!" he answered slowly, as his glance sought the floor. This last drop had filled his cup of happiness to the brim-- Some of it was glistening on his lashes.
"Now tell me your good news--" she continued, her eyes still dancing. She had seen the look but misunderstood the cause.
Oliver raised his eyes--
"Oh, it's not nearly as good as yours, Madge, in one way and yet in another it's a heap better. What do you think? Old Peter Fish wants me to paint his daughter's portrait."
Margaret laid her hand on his.
"Oh, Oliver! Not Peter Fish! That's the best thing that has happened yet," and her face instantly assumed a more serious expression. "I know the girl --she will be an easy subject; she's exactly your type. How do you know?"
"Just saw John Snedecor in answer to a letter he wrote me. Fish has bought the 'Woman in Black.' He's delighted with it."
"Why, I thought it belonged to the Countess."
"So it did. She sold it."
"Sold it!"
"Yes. Does it surprise you?"
"No; I can't say that it does. I am glad, though, that it will stay in the country. It's by far the best thing you or anybody else has done this season. I was afraid she would take it back with her. Poor woman! she has had a hard life, and it doesn't seem to get any better, from what I hear."
"You know the original, then, my dear?" asked Richard, holding out his second cup of tea for another lump of sugar, which Margaret in her excitement had forgotten. He and Nathan had listened with the keenest interest to the reading of John Grant's letter and to the discussion that had followed.
"I know OF her," answered Margaret as she dropped it in; "and she knows me, but I've never met her. She's a Pole, and something of a painter, too. She studied in the same atelier where I was, but that was before I went to Paris. Her husband became mixed up in some political conspiracy and was sent to Siberia, and she was put across the frontier that same