And yet there was something about the face of his sitter that brought a troubled expression to that of the artist. As with bold, rapid strokes he laid in the ground-work for the hair he looked puzzled. As he traced the exquisite outline of the ear his look was almost one of vexation. Once he left his easel, and, going to another canvas that rested on the floor, face to the wall, he turned it partly about and looked at it intently for a few moments. Then he resumed his work, evidently in deep thought. For awhile he painted on in silence. He was inclined by nature to be diffident at first with his sitters, and with this fair being the beginning of a conversation seemed to him a thing as difficult as it was desirable. There was a suggestion of weariness in her face, too, which he felt would disappear with awakened interest.
"I—I beg pardon," he said, somewhat abruptly at length; "have you ever had a portrait before?"
His voice was rich and musical, and the face before him brightened.
"Oh, no! And it is only by accident that I am having one now. I was passing and saw your name; I knew it by reputation, and it occurred to me all at once that I would sit for my picture. Perhaps I should have waited and worn a different dress. It was only a passing impulse. It never occurred to me before; I cannot tell why it did now."
The animation and the faint blush that had crept over her face while she spoke were enchanting. The artist was delighted.
"Your dress could not have been better chosen, and the impulse was surely an inspiration," he said, smiling, "and perhaps," he added, "you may have a friend or—a—a relative who has had, or is having a portrait, which suggested the idea."
As he paused he looked at her inquiringly. The look of weariness had returned to her face.
"No; I have no relatives, and"—she blushed deeply and was silent.
"Forgive me," he said, earnestly; "I did not intend to be inquisitive."
She did not reply in words, but as she lifted her eyes there was a tenderness there that awakened within him all the sympathy, the nobleness and the affection of his purer and better nature. Their eyes met, and in a single moment there was formed between them an invisible bond which both felt and neither sought to conceal. No word was spoken. The artist painted on in silence; but a new light had come into his sitter's face, and a new source of inspiration into his own heart.