“Why, Carlos dear, what is the matter?” she asked, approaching her husband doubtfully.
Carlos stood before a half-finished picture removing his painting jacket, which he hurled into a corner before turning to his wife.
“I’m going to stop,” he said impatiently. “I don’t seem to feel in a mood for it to-day somehow. Besides we’ve been working for quite a while and we need a rest.” His eyes met hers half-defiantly, as if he were expecting some remonstrance. Then he added, “Come on down to a show, dear. We can do some more to-night on this.”
His wife turned away.
“I don’t care to go down, Carlos,” she answered slowly, “and I had hoped you’d want to work this afternoon. We’ve only been up here a little over an hour. Won’t you stay a little longer? You were just beginning to get the right feeling in the picture. I know you were.”
Carlos laughed and kissed her.
“There’s plenty of time for the picture and it’s too wonderful an afternoon to stay indoors. I’m going out for a walk. Sorry you won’t come.” He slammed the door as he went out.
Eloise sat down dejectedly on a straight chair. Her lips trembled until she could hardly keep from crying. For seven weeks this same thing had happened continuously until she was sick to death of trying to fight against it. Every day Carlos had alternated playing around the city with attempts to work which always ended like to-day. In all that time he had only finished one picture—but it had been good, and had shown the talent that was being wasted. If only she knew some way to touch the spark to that talent. Eloise found herself wondering whether perhaps she had not undertaken a task too difficult even for her love. It seemed as if Carlos utterly lacked the requisite energy to produce what he was capable of. With a sigh she turned to putting the studio in order.
Meanwhile Carlos, after wandering out onto the street, had set off in the direction of the park. The refreshing air of a sunny autumn afternoon soon cleared his brain, but there was still an uneasy feeling in the back of his mind. He felt that he ought to be working, yet was unable to, and he knew vaguely that he was not happy even in the freedom of the moment. In this contradictory frame of mind he entered the park, strolling aimlessly along the walks, where the park-loungers basked in the unexpected warmth, and nurse-maids and children tried to make the best of each other’s company. Carlos, deep in thought, paid little attention to anyone unless some child inadvertently threatened to collide with him, when he would start, step aside, and relapse again into his reverie.