‘Titian seems to have solved that point; at least, Vasari tells us this was a portrait of a lady of the Guicciardini family.’
‘I know—I know that,’ said she impatiently; ‘and we do see faces in which Titian or Velasquez have stamped nobility and birth as palpably as they have printed loveliness and expression. And such were these women, daughters in a long line of the proud Patricians who once ruled Rome.’
‘And yet,’ said he slowly, ‘that portrait has its living counterpart.’
‘I am aware of whom you speak: the awkward angular girl we all saw at Rome, whom young gentlemen called the Tizziana.’
‘She is certainly no longer awkward, nor angular, now, if she were once so, which I do not remember. She is a model of grace and symmetry, and as much more beautiful than that picture as colour, expression, and movement are better than a lifeless image.’
‘There is the fervour of a lover in your words, Cecil,’ said she, smiling faintly.
‘It is not often I am so forgetful,’ muttered he; ‘but so it is, our cousinship has done it all, Maude. One revels in expansiveness with his own, and I can speak to you as I cannot speak to another.’
‘It is a great flattery to me.’
‘In fact, I feel that at last I have a sister—a dear and loving spirit who will give to true friendship those delightful traits of pity and tenderness, and even forgiveness, of which only the woman’s nature can know the needs.’
Lady Maude rose slowly, without a word. Nothing of heightened colour or movement of her features indicated anger or indignation, and though Walpole stood with an affected submissiveness before her, he marked her closely. ‘I am sure, Maude,’ continued he, ‘you must often have wished to have a brother.’