It might have been by chance that Delilah Jeliffe driving in her

electric through a broad avenue on the afternoon following the

christening of Constance's baby, met Porter Bigelow, and invited him to

go home with her for a cup of tea.

There were certain things which Delilah wanted of Porter. Perhaps she

wanted more than she would ever get. But to-day she had it in her mind

to find out if he would go with her to the White House garden party.

Colin Quale was little and blond. Because of his genius, his presence

had added distinction to her entrances and exits. But at the coming

function, she knew that she needed more than the prestige of

genius--among the group of distinguished guests who would attend, the

initial impression would mean much. Porter's almost stiff stateliness

would match the gown she was to wear. His position, socially, was

impregnable; he had wealth, and youth, and charm. He would, in other

words, make a perfectly correct background for the picture which she

designed to make of herself.

The old house at Georgetown, to which they came finally, was set back

among certain blossoming shrubs and bushes. A row of tulips flamed on

each side of the walk. Small and formal cedars pointed their spired

heads toward the spring sky.

In the door, as they ascended the steps, appeared Colin Quale.

"Come in," he said, "come in at once. I want you to see what I have

done for you."

He spoke directly to Delilah. It was doubtful if he saw Porter. He

was blind to everything except the fact that his genius had designed

for Delilah Jeliffe a costume which would make her fame and his.

They followed him through the wide hall to the back porch in which he

had set up his easel. There, where a flowering almond bush flung its

branches against a background of green, he had worked out his idea.

A water-color sketch on the easel showed a girl in white--a girl who

might have been a queen or an empress. Her gown partook of the

prevailing mode, but not slavishly. There was distinction in it, and

color here and there, which Colin explained.

"It must be of sheer white, with many flowing flounces, and with faint

pink underneath like the almond bloom. And there must be a bit of

heavenly blue in the hat, and a knot of green at the girdle--and a veil

flung back--you see?--there'll be sky and field and flowers and a white

cloud--all the delicate color and bloom----"

Still explaining, he was at last induced to leave the picture, and have

tea. While Delilah poured, Porter watched the two, interested and

diverted by enthusiasms which seemed to him somewhat puerile for a man

who could do real things in the world of art.




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