A wistfulness, fairly pain, revealed itself for an instant in Ernestine's face. And then, as if coming into consciousness of the look: "I know," she said briefly. "I read about them. I've been--thinking about it. I did see some of them in Europe, but of course I should love to see them again." "I wish you would, my dear; perhaps"--a little fearfully--"they'd make you feel like getting to work yourself. Ernestine,"--gathering courage--"it's awful for you to let your work go this way. Every one says so. I was talking to Ryan the other day--you know who he is? He asked all about you, and if you were doing anything now, and when I told him I was afraid not he fairly flew into a rage, said that was just the way--the people who might be great didn't seem to have sense enough to care to be." That brought the quick colour. "Perhaps Mr. Ryan does not understand everything in life," she said, coolly. "Now, Ernestine--he was lovely about you. Would he have shown any feeling at all if he didn't care a great deal for your work? Does any one fly into a rage at _my_ not painting? He said you were _one_ American woman who was an artist instead of 'a woman who paints.' It seems he saw the Salon picture. Oh, he said beautiful things about you." Ernestine did not answer. She was standing there very quietly, her hand on the knob. "Now, Ernestine," Georgia went on, after the manner of one bound to have it out, "I've tried all winter to cultivate repression. I don't know what it is you are trying to do over there in the laboratory. You asked me to do two things--not to ask you about it, and not to mention it to Karl. I haven't done either, but I want to tell you right now if you have any idea of giving up your own work I think it's time for your friends to inquire into your mental workings! The very fact you don't want Karl to know about it shows you know very well _he_ won't think it's right. Anything that relates to his work can be done by people who do that kind of work a great deal better than you can. Really, Ernestine, the thing is positively fanatical. And anyway,"--this with the air of delivering the overpowering--"I don't think it is at all nice the way you are taking other men into your confidence and deceiving Karl." She met that with a little laugh. "Dear me--what laudable sentiment. I've always heard there was no one half so proper as the girl about to be married. Never mind, Georgia,"--a little more seriously, a little as if it would not be hard to cry--"Karl will forgive me--some day." "But, Ernestine, I want you to work! Can't you see how awful it is for you not to--express yourself?" "I am going to express myself," she answered, lightly enough, but after she had gone Georgia wondered just what she had meant by that.