“I didn’t expect to have your prophecy.”
Erard shrugged his shoulders.
“I paint what I see.”
“And shall I be like that? Dissatisfied and bored and a little heavy?”
“You will know some facts, then. Now you are fooling.”
Miss Anthon would have liked, impulsively, to seize a brush and paint out the face, which would grow to have the power of a sneer at her present self. But she was restrained by the presence of Molly Parker.
“A stunning piece of work,” Miss Parker remarked, eyeing the portrait intently.
“La grande dame de Chicago, U. S. A.,” Erard assented softly.
“But I shouldn’t hang it except in the attic,” Miss Parker continued. “Ask Mr. Wilbur if he wants it around.”
Erard smiled as if sure on that point. What Chicago magnate would not like to show off that superb, commanding person? “Will you let me exhibit it?”