Stanton had invited the
artists, members of the press, and all the people that he knew, whether
they knew him or not. Mrs. Frostwinch was there, Mrs. Staggchase, Elsie
Dimmont, and Ethel Mott; and although Mrs. Bodewin Ranger was not
actually present, she in a manner lent her countenance by sending her
carriage to the door to call for one of her friends. Fred Rangely was
present, talking in a satirical undertone to Miss Merrivale and viewing
the statue with a wicked look in his eye which boded little good to the
sculptor. Melissa Blake was there, rather overpowered by the crowd and
clinging tightly to the arm of her companion, a girl whose acquaintance
she had made in her boarding-house, and who was much given to an
affectation of profound culture as represented by attendance upon
stereopticon lectures and the exhibitions of the local art clubs.
"Oh, I should think," this young lady said to Melissa, in a simpering
rapture, "you'd be just too proud for anything, to know Mr. Stanton. It
must be too lovely to know a real sculptor."
"I don't know him so very well," returned the conscientious Melissa.
"But you really know him," persisted the other, "and he's been to call
on you. Isn't it funny how some men can make things just out of their
heads without anything to go by?"
Rangely, who was standing close by, caught the remark and secretly made
a grimace for the benefit of Miss Merrivale.
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