He was calling at their house, and they were discussing the coming exhibition of the pictures which would compete for the prize.
"By the way, your former clerk and porter is among the competitors; at least he entered the lists last spring, but I have lost sight of him since. I imagine he has given it up, and betaken himself to tasks more within the range of his ability."
The eyes of father and daughter met, but she turned to Mr. Cornell, and said, coolly, though with a face somewhat flushed, "And has Chicago so much artistic talent that a real genius has no chance here?"
"I was not aware that Mr. Fleet was a genius," answered Mr. Cornell.
"I think that he will satisfy you on that point, and that you will hear from him before the exhibition takes place."
Mr. Ludolph hastily changed the subject, but he had forebodings as to the future.
Christine went to her room, and thought for a long time; suddenly she arose, exclaiming, "He told me his story once on canvas; I will now tell him mine."
She at once stretched the canvas on a frame for a small picture, and placed it on an easel, that she might commence with dawn of day.
During the following weeks she worked scarcely less earnestly and patiently than Dennis. The door was locked when she painted, and before she left the studio the picture was hidden.
She meant to send it anonymously, so that not even her father should know its authorship. She hoped that Dennis would recognize it.