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"
"Now before you overwhelm me with further adulation, what _are_ you
talking about?"
"I'm talking about your being an artist. I can't get used to your being
anything but _Ernestine_! That day last spring when we went to see your
Salon picture, and when those chaps were talking to you, and I realised
that they just simply accepted you as one of them--that you belonged, and
that that was all there was about it--I, oh I had such a funny feeling
that day. And now, a minute ago, when I saw that look, I had it again."
"Why, Karl, you don't _mind_, do you?"
"No, it's just that it seems queer. You see you're such a wonderful
sweetheart, it's hard to think of you as anything else. I'll never forget
that day over there. Something just seemed to leap up within you. I--well
I think I was a little scared--or was I awed? Something that was shining
from your eyes made me feel things in my backbone."
"But you're glad?" she laughed.
"Of course I'm glad; and I'm proud. But it's--queer."
She smiled at him understandingly; the understandingness of her smile
always went beyond her words.


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