One or two ordinary mortals, representing the
Press, leavened the throng, but the entire gathering--"advanced" and
unenlightened alike--seemed to be drawn to a common focus: a large
canvas placed advantageously in the southeast corner of the studio,
where it enjoyed all the benefit of a pure and equably suffused light.
Seated apart from his worshipers upon a little sketching stool, and
handling a remarkably long, amber cigarette-holder with much grace, was
Olaf van Noord. He had hair of so light a yellow as sometimes to appear
white, worn very long, brushed back from his brow and cut squarely
all around behind, lending him a medieval appearance. He wore a slight
mustache carefully pointed; and his scanty vandyke beard could not
entirely conceal the weakness of his chin. His complexion had the color
and general appearance of drawing-paper, and in his large blue eyes was
an eerie hint of sightlessness. He was attired in a light tweed suit
cut in an American pattern, and out from his low collar flowed a black
French knot.
Olaf van Noord rose to meet Helen Cumberly and Denise Ryland, advancing
across the floor with the measured gait of a tragic actor. He greeted
them aloofly, and a little negro boy proffered tiny cups of China
tea. Denise Ryland distended her nostrils as her gaze swept the
picture-covered walls; but she seemed to approve of the tea.
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