y
of him. It is a pity his life should be so pointless."

It began to be borne in upon me that Miss Jones had painfully serious
ethical convictions.

"I suppose you mean from the socialistic standpoint," I said.

"Oh, no--not at all; I am not a socialist. Papa and I agree to differ
upon that as upon many other questions. Socialism, I think, tends to
revolt and license."

I did not pursue the subject of Carrington's pointlessness nor proffer
a plea for socialism. I was beginning to wince rather before Miss
Jones's frankness.

On the following day she again came and stood before my picture.

"I posed for Mr. Watkins, R.A., last year," she said. "The picture was
in the Academy. Did you see it? It was beautiful."

The mere name of Mr. Watkins ("R.A.") made every drop of aesthetic blood
in my body curdle. A conscienceless old prater of the soap and salve
school, with not as much idea of drawing or value as a two-year
Julianite.

"I don't quite remember," I said, rather faintly; "what was--the picture
called?"

"'Faith Conquers Fear,'" said Miss Jones. "I posed as a Christian
maiden, you know, tied to a stake in the Roman amphitheatre and waiting
martyrdom. The maiden was in a white robe, her hair hanging over her
shoulders (perhaps you would not recognize me in this costume), looking
up, her hands crossed on her breast. Before her stood a jibing Roman.
One could see it all; the contrast between the base product of a vicious
civilization and the noble maiden. One could read it all in their faces;
hers supreme aspiration, his brutal hatred. It was superb. It made one
want to cry."

Miss Jones, while speaking, looked so exceedingly beautiful that I
almost forgot my dismay at her atrocious taste; for Watkins's "Faith
Conquers Fear" had been one of the jokes of the year--a lamentably
crude, pretentious presentation of a theatrical subject reproduced
extensively in ladies' papers and fatally popular.

At the same moment, and as I looked from Miss Jones's gravely enrapt
expression to Manon's seductive graces, I experienced a sensation of
extreme discomfort.

"I think a picture should have high and noble aims," Miss Jones pursued,
seeing that I remained silent, and evidently considering the time come
when duty required her to speak and to speak freely. "A picture should
leave one better for having seen it."

I could not ignore the kind but firmly severe criticism implied; I could
not but revolt from this Hebraistic