Instantly all the flesh tones from rose madder and cadmium to indigo-blue ran riot in his head. “What coloring,” he kept saying to himself—“What a skin, and the hair and shoulders, and the curl that breaks the line of the throat—never was there such a woman!”
Even as he stood looking into her eyes, pretending to listen to her words of welcome, he was deciding on the colors he would use and the precise pose in which he would paint her.
“And it is such a delight to have you with us,” she was saying in joyous tones, as though his coming brought a holiday. “When I knew you were to be here I began right away to build castles. You are to paint my portrait first, and then you are to paint Phil’s. Isn’t that it, Judge? Come Phil, dear, and shake hands with Mr. Gregg.”
“Whichever you please,” Adam replied simply, the little boy’s hand in his. “I only hope I shall be able to do justice to you both. It will be my fault if I don’t with all this beauty about me. I am really dazed by these wonderful fruit-trees.”
“Yes, we’re going to have a good season,” exclaimed the Judge—“best we have had for years, peaches especially. We expect a——”
“Oh, I only meant the coloring,” interrupted Gregg, his cheeks flushing. “It’s wonderfully lovely.”
“And you don’t have spring blossoms North?” asked Mrs. Colton. Her own eyes had been drinking in the charm of his personality; no color-schemes or palette-tones were interesting her. The straight, lithe, figure, square shoulders, open, honest face, sunny brown eyes, with the short, crisp hair that curled about the temples, meant something alive and young: something that could laugh when she laughed and be merry over little things.
“Yes, of course, but not this glorious rose-pink,” the young painter burst out enthusiastically. “If it will only last until I finish your portrait! It’s really your month to be painted in, Mrs. Colton. You have all of Sully’s harmonies in your coloring—pink, white, blue”—he was still looking into her eyes—“The great Thomas should have seen you first, I am only his humble disciple,” and he shrugged his square shoulders in a modest way.
“And what about Phil?” she laughed, catching the fire of his enthusiasm as she drew the boy closer to her side.
“Well, I should try him in October. He has”—and he glanced at the Judge—“his father’s brown eyes and dark skin. Nuts and autumn leaves and red berries go best with that,” he added, as he ran his fingers through the boy’s short curls.