It was largely in virtue of this interesting and pathetic story that
Mrs. Frostwinch and Mrs. Bodewin Ranger had taken it upon themselves to
better the fortunes of Stanton. Large-hearted ladies in Boston, as
elsewhere in the world, find no difficulty in discovering signs of
genius in a work of art where they deliberately look for it; and being
moved by the sculptor's history,--in which, to say sooth, there was
nothing remarkable, and, save the disappointment in regard to the will,
little that was even striking--his patronesses were not slow in coming
to regard his productions with admiration curiously resembling
momentary veneration. They in a mild way instituted a Stanton cult, as
a minor interest in lives already richly full, and when more weighty
matters did not interfere, Mrs. Frostwinch, in varying degrees of
enthusiasm, could be charming in her praises of the sculptor, whom she
designated as "adorably ursine," and of his work, which in turn, she
termed "irresistibly insistent," whatever that might mean.
Bearish, Orin Stanton certainly was, whether one did or did not find
the quality adorable. He was heavy in mould, with a face marked by none
of the delicacy one expects in an artist and to which his small eyes
and thick lips lent a sensual cast. Milly had always found his
countenance repulsive, strongly as she strove not to be affected by
mere outward appearances.
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