第93章

"THE LADY PORTRAYED"

"It has taken you long, Miss Gray.I nearly sent Simpson up, to find out what had happened.""I am glad you did not do that, Mr.Dalmain.Simpson would have found me weeping on the studio floor; and to ask his assistance under those circumstances, would have been more humbling than inquiring after the fly in the soup!"Garth turned quickly in his chair.The artist-ear had caught the tone which meant comprehension of his work.

"Weeping!" he said."Why?"

"Because," answered Nurse Rosemary, "I have been entranced.These pictures are so exquisite.They stir one's deepest depths.And yet they are so pathetic--ah, SO pathetic; because you have made a plain woman, beautiful."Garth rose to his feet, and turned upon her a face which would have blazed, had it not been sightless.

"A WHAT?" he exclaimed.

"A plain woman," repeated Nurse Rosemary, quietly."Surely you realised your model to be that.And therein lies the wonder of the pictures.You have so beautified her by wifehood, and glorified her by motherhood, that the longer one looks the more one forgets her plainness; seeing her as loving and loved; lovable, and therefore lovely.It is a triumph of art."Garth sat down, his hands clasped before him.

"It is a triumph of truth," he said."I painted what I saw.""You painted her soul," said Nurse Rosemary, "and it illuminated her plain face.""I SAW her soul," said Garth, almost in a whisper; "and that vision was so radiant that it illumined my dark life.The remembrance lightens my darkness, even now."A very tender silence fell in the library.

The twilight deepened.

Then Nurse Rosemary spoke, very low."Mr.Dalmain, I have a request to make of you.I want to beg you not to destroy these pictures."Garth lifted his head."I must destroy them, child," he said."Icannot risk their being seen by people who would recognise my--the--the lady portrayed."

"At all events, there is one person who must see them, before they are destroyed.""And that is?" queried Garth.

"The lady portrayed," said Nurse Rosemary, bravely.

"How do you know she has not seen them?"

"Has she?" inquired Nurse Rosemary.

"No," said Garth, shortly; "and she never will.""She must."

Something in the tone of quiet insistence struck Garth.

"Why?" he asked; and listened with interest for the answer.

"Because of all it would mean to a woman who knows herself plain, to see herself thus beautified."Garth sat very still for a few moments.Then: "A woman who--knows--herself--plain?" he repeated, with interrogative amazement in his voice.

"Yes," proceeded Nurse Rosemary, encouraged."Do you suppose, for a moment, that that lady's mirror has ever shown her a reflection in any way approaching what you have made her in these pictures? When we stand before our looking-glasses, Mr.Dalmain, scowling anxiously at hats and bows, and partings, we usually look our very worst; and that lady, at her very worst; would be of a most discouraging plainness."Garth sat perfectly silent.

"Depend upon it," continued Nurse Rosemary, "she never sees herself as 'The Wife'--'The Mother.' Is she a wife?".

Garth hesitated only the fraction of a second."Yes," he said, very quietly.

Jane's hands flew to her breast.Her heart must be held down, or he would hear it throbbing.

Nurse Rosemary's voice had in it only a slight tremor, when she spoke again.

"Is she a mother?"

"No," said Garth."I painted what might have been.""If--?"

"If it HAD been," replied Garth, curtly.