Sir Arthur tossed aside his palette impatiently. “Show him into the small library and say that I will be with him directly, James.” “Yes, Sir Arthur.” The young man rumpled up his fair hair with a sigh of despair as he stood up and surveyed his morning’s work. His great canvas was pretty well covered—the accessories, the towers of Camelot, Arthur and Guinevere, and the knights and ladies of their court were all completed, even the costume of the “lily-maid” as she lay in her golden barge. But Elaine’s face remained a blank—Arthur’s most strenuous efforts had failed to transfer to canvas the lovely features that, once seen, had made so strong an impression upon his imagination, and anything else would, he felt sure, only fall short of his ideal. With an impatient shrug he told himself that he was a failure from an artistic point of view, and the next moment dwelt with a ray of hope on the possibilities of obtaining future sittings.
