Be
this as it may in the abstract, Van Berg regarded himself as the most
rational man in the city that morning. He did not try to account
for his mental state by musty and proverbial wisdom or long-established
principles of psychology. The glad, strong consciousness of his
own soul satisfied him and made everything appear natural. Since
he HAD this strong and growing friendship for this maiden, who was
evidently pleased to come again to his studio, though so coy and
shy in admitting it, why should he not have it? There was nothing
in his creed against such a friendship, and everything for it.
Men of talent, not to mention genius, had ever sought inspiration
from those most capable of imparting it, and this girl's beauty
and character were kindling his mind to that extent that he began
to hope he could now do some of the finest work of his life. The
fact that he felt towards her the strongest friendly regard was
in itself enough, and Van Berg was too good a modern thinker to
dispute with facts, especially agreeable ones.
The practical outcome of the friendship which he lost no chance of
manifesting that morning, was that Mr. Mayhew, in an easy, informal
manner, extended his invitation, and the artist accepted in a way
that proved he was constrained by something more than courtesy or
a sense of duty, and Conspirator Number Two walked down Broadway
muttering (as do all conspirators): "Those young people are liable
to stumble into paradise at any moment.
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