If so that would merely prove that they did not recognize a radical
departure from accepted methods and subject matter as art. The
impressionists, he understood, were being so ignored. Later they would
accept him. If he were admitted it would simply mean that they knew
better than he believed they did.

"I believe I will do it," he said; "I'd like to know what they think of
my stuff anyhow."

The picture was sent as he had planned, and to his immense satisfaction
it was accepted and hung. It did not, for some reason, attract as much
attention as it might, but it was not without its modicum of praise.
Owen Overman, the poet, met him in the general reception entrance of the
Academy on the opening night, and congratulated him sincerely. "I
remember seeing that in _Truth_," he said, "but it's much better in the
original. It's fine. You ought to do a lot of those things."

"I am," replied Eugene. "I expect to have a show of my own one of these
days."

He called Angela, who had wandered away to look at a piece of statuary,
and introduced her.

"I was just telling your husband how much I like his picture," Overman
informed her.

Angela was flattered that her husband was so much of a personage that he
could have his picture hung in a great exhibition such as this, with its
walls crowded with what seemed to her magnificent canvases, and its
rooms filled with important and distinguished people. As they strolled
about Eugene pointed out to her this well known artist and that writer,
saying almost always that they were very able. He knew three or four of
the celebrated collectors, prize givers, and art patrons by sight, and
told Angela who they were. There were a number of striking looking
models present whom Eugene knew either by reputation, whispered comment
of friends, or personally--Zelma Desmond, who had posed for Eugene,
Hedda Anderson, Anna Magruder and Laura Matthewson among others. Angela
was struck and in a way taken by the dash and beauty of these girls.
They carried themselves with an air of personal freedom and courage
which surprised her. Hedda Anderson was bold in her appearance but
immensely smart. Her manner seemed to comment on the ordinary woman as
being indifferent and not worth while. She looked at Angela walking with
Eugene and wondered who she was.

"Isn't she striking," observed Angela, not knowing she was anyone whom
Eugene knew.

"I know her well," he replied; "she's a model."

Just then Miss A