He didn't apply for it for a
long time, and then there was a hitch about it, and it was
somethinged--vetoed, I believe she said."
"Who vetoed it?" asked Mrs. Leighton, with some curiosity about the
process, which she held in reserve.
"I don't know-whoever vetoes things. I wonder what Mr. Wetmore does think
of us--his class. We must seem perfectly crazy. There isn't one of us
really knows what she's doing it for, or what she expects to happen when
she's done it. I suppose every one thinks she has genius. I know the
Nebraska widow does, for she says that unless you have genius it isn't
the least use. Everybody's puzzled to know what she does with her baby
when she's at work--whether she gives it soothing syrup. I wonder how Mr.
Wetmore can keep from laughing in our faces. I know he does behind our
backs."
Mrs. Leighton's mind wandered back to another point. "Then if he says Mr.
Beaton can't paint, I presume he doesn't respect him very much."
"Oh, he never said he couldn't paint. But I know he thinks so. He says
he's an excellent critic."
"Alma," her mother said, with the effect of breaking off, "what do you
suppose is the reason he hasn't been near us?"
"Why, I don't know, mamma, except that it would have been natural for
another person to come, and he's an artist at least, artist enough for
that.
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