“What got into the man?” Stefan wondered, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “He was leisurely enough till he had seen the picture. I tell you what!” he exclaimed. “Did you notice his expression when he looked at it? I believe the chap is in love with you!” He turned his most impish and mischievous face to her.
Mary blushed with annoyance. “How perfectly ridiculous, Stefan! Please don't say such things.”
“But he is!” He danced about the room, hugely entertained by his idea. “Don't you see, that is why he is so eager about your verses, and why he was so bouleversé by the Danaë! Poor chap, I feel quite sorry for him. You must be nice to him.”
Mary was thoroughly annoyed. “Please don't talk like that,” she reiterated. “You don't know how it hurts when you are so flippant. If you suggest such a reason for his acceptance of my work, of course I can't send in any more.” Tears of vexation were in her eyes.
“Darling, don't be absurd,” he responded, teasingly. “Why shouldn't he be in love with you? I expect everybody to be so. As for your verses, of course he wouldn't take them if they weren't good; I didn't mean that.”
“Then why did you say it?” she asked, unplacated.
“Dearest!” and he kissed her. “Don't be dignified; be Aphrodite again, not Pallas. I never mean anything I say, except when I say I love you!”
“Love isn't the only thing, Stefan,” she replied.
“Isn't it? What else is there? I don't know,” and he jumped on the table and sat smiling there with his head on one side, like a naughty little boy facing his schoolmaster.
She wanted to answer “comprehension,” but was silent, feeling the uselessness of further words. How expect understanding of a common human hurt from this being, who alternately appeared in the guise of a god and a gamin? She remembered the old tale of the maiden wedded to the beautiful and strange elf-king. Was the legend symbolic of that mysterious thread—call it genius or what you will—that runs its erratic course through humanity's woof, marring yet illuminating the staid design, never straightened with its fellow-threads, never tied, and never to be followed to its source? With the feeling of having for an instant held in her hand the key to the riddle of his nature, Mary went to Stefan and ran her fingers gently through his hair.