Among Edith's wedding
gifts had been some exquisite jars of Moorish pottery, and these, with
a few pieces of Algerian armor, were the only ornaments which the
artist had admitted to the room. The simplicity and richness of the
whole made an admirable setting for the dinner table, and as the host
when he entertained was willing to take the trouble of overlooking his
wife's arrangements, the Fentons' dinner parties were among the most
picturesquely effective in Boston.
"I have two big pieces of news for you," Mrs. Fenton said, when the
soup had been removed. "I have been to call on Mrs. Stewart Hubbard
this afternoon, and Mr. Hubbard is going to have you paint him. Isn't
that good?"
Her husband looked up in evident pleasure.
"That isn't so bad," was his reply. "He'll make a stunning picture, and
the Hubbards are precisely the sort of people one likes to have
dealings with. Is he going at it soon?"
"He is coming to see you to-morrow, Mrs. Hubbard said. The picture is
to be her birthday present. I told her you were so busy I didn't know
when you could begin."
"I would stretch a point to please Mr. Hubbard. I am almost done with
Irons, vulgar old cad. I wish I dared paint him as bad as he really
looks."
"But your artistic conscience won't let you?" she queried, smiling. "He
is a dreadful old creature; but he means well.
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