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Show ART AND ARISTOCRACY By CARL CLAY. It wasn't remarkable that sho cared so much 'about nobility, or that she know much about art, for In point of faot sho had never seen a nobleman, and as for art. It had always been represented to her by a few columns In the newspaper, containing allusions to subjects unfamiliar to her. Then ono day sho met tho marquis. Prom that tlmo her devotion to art and tho aristocracy was remarkable. A girl friend, a stenographer llko herself, had asked her to visit the Art Institute with her ono Wednesday noon hour. Though sho would much rather have gono to "see about getting get-ting a hat" sho had so great an admiration ad-miration for the friend, who was very advanced In her views on many subjects, sub-jects, that sho followed the friend's lead rather aimlessly through rooms filled with plcturos of tho sea, of animals, ani-mals, cows and horses and lovely women wo-men dressed as sho had never seen women of her world dressed. "And this," said her friend, "Is the old master's room." The term didn't mean much to her and she thought the old masters an odd looking company until suddenly, way off In a corner, she came face to face with tho marquis. It was not painted eyes that looked at her from above the heavy ruff; they were real eyes and they held a strange fascination for her. Yet she felt almost al-most ashamed to stare at him and she wondered that he did not turn his head away from her plebeian gazo. There were no moro old masters for hor In this room after that; she had met her master and ho dominated her. She went often to the Art Institute from that time on and she never failed to pay her respects to the marquis. It was a romantic experience merely to stand before htm and look Into thoso curious and not altogether kind- She Watched the Worker. ly oyes. She liked tho aristocratic sparseness of his hair, tho noble length of his nose, and all tho trappings trap-pings of his rank, though theso alone would not account for tho strange spell he cast over her. One day upon visiting her marquis she found a young man with his easel seated In front of him, evidently bent upon making a copy of him. Sho resented re-sented such desecration, but she watched tho worker with growing interest. in-terest. "I don't see how you lmvo the cour-ago," cour-ago," sho ventured to say to him at last. Ho was a good looking young man with hair as abundant as tho marquis' was sparse. He smiled at her. "You mean that I nm too artistically Impudent?" ho asked. "No, not that. I shouldn't think you could enduro to soe him watch you and analyze you and suoer at you ns ho Is always sneering at every ono he sees." "Oh, ho's harmless," answered tho painter, merrily Then both grow silent ns another pair of remarkablo eyos began to assume shape and expression ex-pression on tho painter's canvas. Sho came two or three times a week and In that cornor of the master's room they made quite a gny company, the marquis on tho wall, his double-on double-on the ensol and the two ardent admirers ad-mirers of theso twin noblomcn. It Is very cosy to transfer your admiration of art to the creator of that art. Thcroforo, by tho tlmo the plcturo on tho easel was finished she had not only como to bolievo that tho copy was as fine as tho original, but to believe that another Peter Paul Itubens had nppeared upon tho horizon of nrt. Now when their friends ask who Is tho subject of tho plcturo that hangs In a prominent place In their small living room tho young painter nluaya replies: "Ho'b tho gontlomnn who Introduced mo to my wife, tho Marquis Splnola." Chicago Dally Nows. |