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Show & Q The Gentleman in the StrawHat By Philip Kean "It's the gentleman in the straw hat, miss," said the little maid. "It's a most Inconvenient time to see him," Catharine said. "But he insists." Catharine trailed the snowy lengths of her satin gown toward the door. "I suppose I shall have to see him," she said. "Did he give any name?" "No," the maid replied, "but he is the same gentleman that came the other day. I knew him by his straw hat. It seemed sort of strange for a gentleman to be wearing a straw hat in winter." "Yes, it does," Catharine said, and went downstairs. Catharine greeted the stranger somewhat coolly. She had suspicions of a book agent, although a second glance at the man before her rather dispelled this idea. He was shabby. He came to the point at once. "I want to paint your picture," he said. Catharine looked at him haughtily. "Why, I don't know you." Her voice had In it a note of anger, but he did not seem disturbed. "I want to paint your picture," he repeated. "You are the most beautiful beauti-ful woman I have ever seen." Catharine stood up. "You have not seen me long enough to call me beautiful." beau-tiful." "I have seen you many times," he said, "and last night as you came out and crossed the snowy pavement on the way to your motor, I was standing stand-ing on the steps. You were wrapped In white furs and there were diamonds dia-monds in your hair. I thought of the 'Snow Queen' about whom I used to read in my fairy books." Catharine leaned toward him eager with interest. "I remember," she said, "but how cruel she was." "Yes," he agreed, "yes; but your beauty the wonderful white of the i v v v. v in snow, the white of your furs I want ' them on my canvas I must have them' Hut again Catharine repelled him haughtily. "I do not know you." she said. His head went up. "I have no reputation," he admitted, "and I am poor and struggling for recognition, but 1 love my art. I know I am asking ask-ing much, but no one will ever paint you better than I shall paint you." "Of course I could not come alone," she said. "I do not wish you to come; I have no sudio. I want to paint you here. His demand was made so quietly, with such perfect assurance that it would be granted, that again she gave in weakly. When he had gone however, and she told at the table' ol the strange circumstance her mother exclaimed against the nnrnn- ventionality, and her father spoke of the danger of admitting an unknown man to the house. Her cousin, Betty Barnes, however, who was spending the winter with her. thought it something some-thing of an adventure. "It has been so deadly dull lately," she said, "just teas, receptions and things. Can we all como in and see him paint you, Catharine?" "Of course you can," Catharine answered, an-swered, "but he won't interest you Betty. He Is the shabbiest man you ever saw." But as Catharine learned to know the painter she found that It was not poverty alone that made him wear a straw hat. So completely was he wrapped up in his art that he thought little of the things that rule the average aver-age man. Gradually under his hand the pic-nre pic-nre was taking on great beauty. While he painted he talked to her. He had been everywhere, seen everything. every-thing. She listened, and, when he left, wished that she might listen still. It was when the picture was almost finished that the artist demanded something more of Catharine. "Tomorrow," he said, "will be my last day here with you it will be my last day of happiness." She looked at him, her eyes shining, shin-ing, ber cheeks flushed. "Why should it be your last day of happiness?" she asked. "Because 1 must leave you," he told her. For a moment they looked at each other and the eyes of the girl told the man something that he knew her lips would not utter. He took a quick step toward her, then stopped. "You would never marry me." he said, "even if I dared ask you. I have called my picture 'The Lady of the Frozen Heart.' It is not that you-have you-have no heart but you are cold." She caught her breath quickly. The look had died out In her eyes. "I am glad you know me so well," she said, and presently she left him and went away. He painted until dark came, and then sat there without the light, dreaming in the big chair near the fireplace. Presently some one came in softly. It was Betty Barnes. She came over and looked at him. "I have found you out,-" she said slowly. His eyes tried to pierce the dimness, dim-ness, as he laughed softly. "Oh, Betty Barnes," he said, "who told you?" Betty touched the button and turned turn-ed on the electric light. "Let me look at you," she said. She surveyed him while he smiled down at her. "It wai your pointed beard and the tan that deceived me," she told him confidentially, confidenti-ally, as she settled herself in another big chair. "I had seen onmo nn i, ! looked like you, but it wasn't until yesterday that I traced the resemblance resem-blance to the picture that hung ovei my brother's desk at college." The artist nodded. "Yes, I poured tea for you the time that you came on to see Jack's room. I have been abroad since them and hare learned to paint, and I fell in love with Catharine Cath-arine at the opera. I did not know a soul to present me to her. I did not dream that you were h.'re, and ) was bound that I would paint her picture. pic-ture. So I made up my mind to come here in an eccentric co'stume so thai she might think that I was some dreamy artist whom she could admil because he fancied himself a genius and because she might help him tc fame.' Betty laughed. "And now you are afraid to 'fess up.' " she said. "Do you think she would ever forgive for-give me? She is so distant, so cold, so hard to touch." "That shows bow much you meD know about it," Betty said, scornfully. "She is dead ii love with you right this minute." But he would not believe it. ' There was a look in her eyes today that made me hope for a minute" "It's a man's place to let a girl know that he cares." But even wise little Betty did not know Catharine, for the lady of the frozen heart was In her room, dreaming dream-ing with her eves on her nn-r, urn. fire. the flames of which cast shadows over her thoughtful face. He loves me," she said to herself, "but he is poor and afraid to tell me." So a little later she crept down to him. Betty had gone after an admonition. admoni-tion. "Don't tell her how rich you " are, at first," she said, "or it will spoil the romance for her." As Catharine entered the room she found the man who loved her gazing at the picture he had painted. She crept up behind him softly. "I want you to paint another," she said. He turned to her quickly. "Another picture?" he stammered. 'ies," she said, "I want you to paint me as the 'Lady of Dreams.' I don't want any snow or ice or frozen things, but flowers and sunshine. Vou have made me a thing of ice and hardness I want you to paint me aa a woman who can love." He stood silent before the beauty of her surrender. "Could you even love a gentleman in a straw hat?'-"I hat?'-"I could love you." After a time, when they had said all the wonderful first things that lovers must tell, he explained his de- ccptiou. "There was no necessity for the straw hat," he told her, "nor for the shabby clothes." But he did not let her know that he was rich ha -want, d first to paint her as his "Lady of Dreams" and to feel the happiness of the man who knows that not be. cause of his position, not because of outward things, is ho beloved, but be. cause of his own true worth. |