The Captain of the Gray-Horse Troop. Garland Hamlin

CURTIS SEEKS A TRUCE

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      "Our artists are going to flit," remarked Jennie, one evening, as they were taking seats at luncheon.

      He looked up quickly. "Are they?"

      "Yes, Miss Brisbane is going back to Washington, and Mr. Lawson will follow, no doubt."

      He unfolded his napkin with unmoved countenance. "Well, they are wise; we are likely to have a norther any day now."

      The soldier had all the responsibilities and perplexities he could master without the addition of Elsie Brisbane's disturbing lure. The value of her good opinion was enormously enhanced by the news of her intended departure, and for a day or two Curtis went about his duties with absent-minded ineffectiveness; he even detected himself once or twice sitting with his pen in his hand creating aimless markings on his blotting-pad. Wilson, the clerk, on one occasion waited full five minutes for an answer while his chief debated with himself whether to call upon Miss Brisbane at the studio or at the house. He began to find excuses for her—"A man who is a villain in business may be a very attractive citizen in private life—and she may have been very fond of Sennett. From her point of view—anyhow, she is a lovely young girl, and it is absurd to place her among my enemies." The thought of her face set in bitter scorn against him caused his heart to contract painfully. "I've been too harsh. These people are repugnant to one so dainty and superrefined. There are excuses for her prejudice. I can't let her go away in anger." And in this humble mood he stopped at the door of her studio one morning, prepared to be very patient and very persuasive.

      "Good-morning, Miss Brisbane. May I come in?"

      "Certainly, if my work will interest you," she replied; "you'll excuse my going on. I want to finish this portrait of Little Peta to-day."

      "By all means—I do not intend to interrupt." He took a seat to the front and a little to the left of her, and sat in silence for a few moments. Her brown hair, piled loosely on her head, brought out the exquisite fairness of her complexion, and the big, loose sleeve of her blouse made her hand seem like a child's, but it was strong and steady. She was working with her whole mind, breathing quickly as she mixed her colors, holding her breath as she put her brush against the canvas. She used the apparently aimless yet secure movement of the born painter. With half-closed eyes and head a little to one side, with small hand lifted to measure and compare, she took on a new expression, a bewitching intentness, which quite transformed her.

      "I hear you are going away," said Curtis at last, speaking with some effort, uncertain of her temper.

      "Yes, we break up and vacate to-morrow."

      "Why break up? You will want to come back next spring. Leave the place as it is."

      She gave him a quick, keen glance, and put her head again on one side to squint.

      "I have no intention of returning."

      "Have you exhausted Indian subjects?"

      "Oh no!" she exclaimed, with sudden, artistic enthusiasm. "I have just begun to see what I want to do."

      "Then why not come back?" She did not reply, and he resumed, with tender gravity: "I hope I haven't made it so unpleasant for you that you are running away to escape me?"

      She turned with a sharp word on her tongue, but he was so frank and so handsome, and withal so humble, that she instantly relented. She was used to this humility in men and knew the meaning thereof, and a flush of gratified pride rose to her face. The proud soldier had become a suitor like the others.

      "Oh no—you have nothing to do with it," she replied, carelessly.

      "I am glad of that. I was afraid you might think me unsympathetic, but I am not. I am here this morning to offer you my cordial assistance, for I am eager to see this people put into art. So far as I know, they have never been adequately treated in painting or in sculpture."

      "Thank you," she said, "I don't think I shall go very far with them. They are very pleasant on canvas, but there are too many disagreeable things connected with painting them. I don't see how you endure the thought of living here among them." She shuddered. "I hate them!"

      "I don't understand that hardness in you, Miss Brisbane," he replied.

      "I'm sure it isn't mysterious. I hate dirt and rags, even when painted. Now Little Peta here is quite different. She is a dear little thing. See her sigh—she gets so tired, but she's patient."

      "You are making a beautiful picture of her. Your skill is marvellous." His method of approach was more adroit than he realized; she softened yet again.

      "Thank you. I seem to have hit her off very well."

      "Will you exhibit in Washington this winter?" he asked, with boyish eagerness.

      "I may—I haven't quite decided," she said, quite off guard at last.

      "If you do I wish you would let me know. I may be able to visit the exhibition and witness your triumph."

      She began to suspect his motives. "Oh, my little row of paintings couldn't be tortured into a triumph. I've stolen the time for them from Mr. Lawson, whose illustrations I have neglected." She was again cold and repellent.

      "Miss Brisbane, this whole situation has become intolerable to me." He rose and faced her, very sincere and deeply earnest. "I do not like to have you go away carrying an unpleasant impression of me. What can I do to change it? If I have been boorish or presuming in any way I sincerely beg your pardon."

      She motioned to Peta. "You can go now, dear, I've done all I can to-day."

      Curtis took up his hat. "I hope I have not broken up your sitting. It would be unpardonable in me."

      She squinted back at the picture with professional gravity. "Oh no; I only had a few touches to put in under the chin—that luminous shadow is so hard to get. I'm quite finished."

      She went behind a screen for a few moments, and when she reappeared without her brushes and her blouse she was the society young lady in tone and manner.

      "Would you like to look at my sketches?" she asked. "They're jolly rubbish, the whole lot, but they represent a deal of enthusiasm."

      Her tone was friendly—too friendly, considering the point at which he had paused, and he was a little hurt by it. Was she playing with him?

      His tone was firm and his manner direct as he said: "Miss Brisbane, I am accustomed to deal directly with friends as well as enemies, and I like to have people equally frank with me. I know you are angry because of my action in the case of your uncle. I do not ask pardon for that; I was acting there in line of my duty. But if I have spoken harshly or without due regard to your feelings at any time I ask you to forgive me."

      He made a powerful appeal to her at this moment, but she wilfully replied: "You made no effort to soften my uncle's disgrace."

      "I didn't know he was your uncle at that time," he said, but his face grew grave quickly. "It would have made no difference if I had—my orders were to step between him and the records of the office. So far as my orders enlightened me, he was a man to be watched." He turned towards the door. "Is there anything I can do to help you reach the station to-morrow? My sister and I would gladly drive you down."

      She was unrelenting, but very lovely as she replied: "Thank you; you are very kind, but all arrangements are made."

      "Good-afternoon, Miss Brisbane."

      "Good-bye, Captain Curtis."

      "She is hard—hard as iron," he said, as he walked away. "Her father's daughter in every fibre."

      He was ashamed to acknowledge how deeply he felt her rejection of his friendship, and the thought of not seeing her again gave him a sudden sense of weakness and loneliness.

      Elsie,