And it is a somewhat notable fact that your true mountaineer
or your gentleman who has been obliged to honestly "rough it," does not,
as a general thing, write books about its advantages, or implore their
fellow mortals to come and share their solitude and their discomforts.
Thoroughly appreciating the taste and comfort of Harlowe's library, yet
half-envious of its owner, and half-suspicious that his own earnest
life for the past few years might have been different, Thatcher suddenly
started from his seat and walked towards a parlor easel, whereon stood
a picture. It was Carmen de Haro's first sketch of the furnace and the
mine.
"I see you are taken with that picture," said Harlowe, pausing with the
champagne bottle in his hand. "You show your good taste. It's been much
admired. Observe how splendidly that firelight plays over the sleeping
face of that figure, yet brings out by very contrast its almost
death-like repose. Those rocks are powerfully handled; what a suggestion
of mystery in those shadows! You know the painter?"
Thatcher murmured, "Miss De Haro," with a new and rather odd
self-consciousness in speaking her name.
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