THE AMERICAN
"Ah, you're a great connoisseur!" his companion sighed.
"In pictures? Oh no; I'm only picking up the rudiments of knowledge."
"In pretty women then?"
"In that I may be coming on, but I've ground to make up."
"What do you say to this?" the girl asked, indicating a superb Italian portrait of a lady. "I'll do it for you on a smaller scale."
"On a smaller scale? Why not as large as the original?"
She glanced at the glowing splendour of the Venetian masterpiece and gave a toss of her head. "I don't like that woman. She looks stupid."
"Well, she makes an impression on me," said Newman. "Decidedly I must have her, and as large as life. And just as shiningly stupid as she stands there."
The girl fixed her eyes on him again, and with her mocking smile: "It certainly ought to be easy for me to make her look stupid!" And then as he but opposed his vagueness she gave another shrug. "Seriously, you want that portrait—the golden hair, the purple satin, the pearl necklace, the two magnificent arms?"
"Everything—just as it is."
"Would nothing else do instead?"
"Oh, I want some other things, but I want that too."
She turned away a moment, walked to the other side of the hall and stood there looking vaguely
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