Imaginary Portraits

pubOne.info present you this new edition. They have been renovating my father's large workroom. That delightful, tumble-down old place has lost its moss-grown tiles and the green weather-stains we have known all our lives on the high whitewashed wall, opposite which we sit, in the little sculptor's yard, for the coolness, in summertime. Among old Watteau's workpeople came his son, “the genius, ” my father's godson and namesake, a dark-haired youth, whose large, unquiet eyes seemed perpetually wandering to t