"I never had any patience," she answered, with something like a smile.
"And I was never so possessed by the demon of impatience as I have been this afternoon. There hasn't been a soul around that I cared to talk with, and if you knew how out of conceit I am with my own company, you would feel some commiseration. How I envied you your visit to the garden this afternoon, for I felt sure you took your father thither. May I not go with you again to-morrow, or soon? I wish to make my sketch more accurate before beginning your picture."
She hesitated a moment, and he little know how he was tempting her. Then she replied, so quietly and decisively as to seem almost cold, "Mr. Eltinge, I'm sure, will be very glad to see you, but I shall go to the city with my father in the morning and remain in town all the week." She was puzzled at his unmistakable expression of regret and disappointment, and added, hastily, "Mr. Van Berg, you are taking far too much trouble. I would be more satisfied—I would be delighted with such a sketch as you made to-day, with the omission of myself."
"But if, instead of being trouble, it gave me great pleasure to make the picture with the utmost care?"
"I suppose," she replied, "that you have a high artistic sense that must be satisfied, and that you see imperfections that I cannot."
"You are too severe upon me, Miss Mayhew, but since you have such good reason, I cannot complain. Still, in justice to myself, I must say that satisfying my artistic sense was not my motive."
"I did not mean to be severe—I do not mean what you think," Ida began, very eagerly. Then she checked herself and added, after a moment, with a slight tinge of sadness in her tone, "I fear we are fated to misunderstand each other. Good-night, Mr. Van Berg," and she turned decisively away and joined her father who was talking with Stanton.
The artist was both hurt and perplexed, and he abruptly left the hall and started again on the walk which had been so unexpectedly interrupted. He strode away through the starlight with a swiftness that was scarcely in harmony with the warm, still summer night. Before he was aware of it he was a mile away. Stopping suddenly he muttered:
"I won't be so baffled and puzzled. I will learn to understand this Ida Mayhew before this summer is over. It's ridiculous that I should be so dull and stupid. She says she fears we are 'fated to misunderstand each other.' I defy such a blind stupid fate. I used to have some brains and tact before I came to this place, and I scarcely think I've become an idiot. I am determined to win that girl's friendship, and I intend to follow her career and watch the rare and beautiful development of her character. That one hour in the garden yesterday taught me what an inspiration her exquisite beauty can be in my profession, and surely with the vantage-ground I already possess I ought to have skill enough to win a place among her friends," and he walked back almost as quickly as he had stalked away.
Ida had seen his departure and recognized the fact that she had hurt his feelings. It was strange that so little a thing could depress her so greatly, for she felt that the first real Sabbath she had ever spent and which had been in truth a SUN-day to her thus far, was now ending in shadows darker than the night. "How weak I am," she thought; "I must go away as soon as possible, or else I shall be sorry. The companionship that he can give so easily and frankly when Miss Burton is not at hand to occupy him is impossible for me, and would only end in the betrayal of a secret that I would hide even more anxiously than the crime I could not conceal from him. My duty and my father must be everything hereafter," and she turned resolutely to him, saying: