Мхи старой усадьбы
The Artist of the Beautiful
AndtherewasAnnie,too,nowtransformedintoamatron,withmuchofherhusband’splainandsturdynature,butimbued,asOwenWarlandstillbelieved,withafinergrace,thatmightenablehertobetheinterpreterbetweenstrengthandbeauty.Ithappened,likewise,thatoldPeterHovendenwasaguestthiseveningathisdaughter’sfireside,anditwashiswell-rememberedexpressionofkeen,coldcriticismthatfirstencounteredtheartist’sglance.
"MyoldfriendOwen!"criedRobertDanforth,startingup,andcompressingtheartist’sdelicatefingerswithinahandthatwasaccustomedtogripebarsofiron."Thisiskindandneighborlytocometousatlast.Iwasafraidyourperpetualmotionhadbewitchedyououtoftheremembranceofoldtimes."
"Wearegladtoseeyou,"saidAnnie,whileablushreddenedhermatronlycheek."Itwasnotlikeafriendtostayfromussolong."
"Well,Owen,"inquiredtheoldwatchmaker,ashisfirstgreeting,"howcomesonthebeautiful?Haveyoucreateditatlast?"
Theartistdidnotimmediatelyreply,beingstartledbytheapparitionofayoungchildofstrengththatwastumblingaboutonthecarpet,—alittlepersonagewhohadcomemysteriouslyoutoftheinfinite,butwithsomethingsosturdyandrealinhiscompositionthatheseemedmouldedoutofthedensestsubstancewhichearthcouldsupply.Thishopefulinfantcrawledtowardsthenew-comer,andsettinghimselfonend,asRobertDanforthexpressedtheposture,staredatOwenwithalookofsuchsagaciousobservationthatthemothercouldnothelpexchangingaproudglancewithherhusband.
