XI.
WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED.
Comedy of Errors; i.—I.
Upon entering the small studio where her bas-relief stood, Helen found Herman there before her. He had removed the wet cloths from the clay and was examining the work with close attention.
"You need a model for this figure," he said, indicating the month of
May. "You must take that turn of the shoulder from nothing but life."
Helen came and stood beside him, looking at the work. The instinct of the artist for the moment superseded all other feelings in her mind, and she forgot alike her own troubles and the ill-omened gift with which her husband purposed remembering the nuptials of her friend.
The figure of May of which Herman spoke was that of a beautiful young girl casting backward a wistful look at the fallen flowers which she had dropped but might not stay to gather up again. The splendid movement of the youthful figure, thrown forward in her running, but with one shoulder turned toward the spectator, so that the upper portion of the beautiful bosom was seen, formed one of the finest details of the composition.
"Yes," the sculptor said again, "you must have a model for that, and I have one coming this morning. To be honest, I came up here hoping you'd need her. I believe she is a good girl, and I do not like the idea of her being about among the studios."
He went on to speak of the figure, adding suggestions of treatment, feeling and posing; and as he talked he was conscious of needlessly prolonging the conversation for the mere pleasure of being near this woman, and of secretly cherishing some vague feeling that not only would Ninitta be safe under Mrs. Greyson's guardianship, but that some solution of the complexities in which he found himself involved would result from bringing together the two women so closely connected with his life.
He went away into his own studio at length, but Helen had scarcely got fairly to work before he reappeared with Ninitta.
Ninitta was much the same in outward appearance as upon the previous day, but between this morning's mental state and that of yesterday there was a great gulf. The Italian's character was a strange if not wholly unique mixture of simplicity and worldly wisdom. All her experiences, her life as a model in various parts of the world, her hardships and successes, while teaching her only too sharply the follies and vices of mankind, had never for an instant shaken her faith in Grant Herman. He was her god. It is even doubtful if any thing he could have done would have destroyed her belief in his integrity and nobility of soul. When he left her, she acquiesced, it is true, but with a wild passion of anguish. She knew he misjudged, but she chose to phrase it to herself that he was deceived; his rashness and hot-headedness were to her only so many fresh evidences of his greatness of character. She was not the first woman who has vaguely felt that unreasoning jealousy and passion are admirable or even essential attributes of virility, and who has worshiped a man as much for his faults as for his virtues.