t while," said Cornelia, smiling.

"No; but still, one sophisticates in New York very soon. I'll tell you
what I've got a notion of! Well, it's all very much in the air, yet,
but so far as I've thought it out, it's the relation of our art to our
life. It sounds rather boring, I know, and I suppose I'm a bit of a
theorist; I always was. It's easy enough to prove to the few that our
life is full of poetry and picturesqueness; but can I prove it to the
many? Can the people themselves be made to see it and feel it? That's
the question. Can they be interested in a picture--a real work of art
that asserts itself in a good way? Can they be taught to care for my
impression of the trotting-match at the Pymantoning County Fair, as
much as they would for a chromo of the same thing, and be made to feel
that there was something more in it perhaps?"

He sat fronting her, with his head down over the hat he held between
his hands; now he lifted his face and looked into hers. She smiled at
his earnestness, and for a little instant felt herself older and wiser
in her practicality.

"You might send it out to the next County Fair, and see."

"Why, that's just what I thought of!" he said, and he laughed. "Do you
suppose they would let me exhibit it in the Fine Arts Department?"

"I don't believe they would give you the first premium," said Cornelia.

"Well, well, then I should have to put up with the second! I should
like to get the first, I confess," Ludlow went on seriously. "The
premium would mean something to me--not so much, of course, as a
popular recognition. What do you think the chance of that would be?"

"Well, I haven't seen the picture yet," Cornelia suggested.

"Ah, that's true! I forgot that," he said, and they both laughed. "But
what do you think of my theory? It seems to me," and now he leaned back
in his chair, and smiled upon her with that bright earnestness which
women always found charming in him, "it seems to me that the worst
effect of an artist's life is to wrap him up in himself, and separate
him from his kind. Even if he goes in for what they call popular
subjects, he takes from the many and gives to the few; he ought to give
something back to the crowd--he ought to give everything back. But the
terrible question is whether they'll have it; and he has no means of
finding out."

"And you've come to one of the crowd to inquire?" Cornelia asked. Up to
that moment she had been flattered, too, by his serious app