“Was the girl a model?”
“Nein, sie war kein Modell. Sie war eine kleine Malschülerin.”
“An art-student!” replied Gudrun.
And how the situation revealed itself to her! She saw the girl art-student, unformed and of pernicious recklessness, too young, her straight flaxen hair cut short, hanging just into her neck, curving inwards slightly, because it was rather thick; and Loerke, the well-known master-sculptor, and the girl, probably well-brought-up, and of good family, thinking herself so great to be his mistress. Oh how well she knew the common callousness of it all. Dresden, Paris, or London, what did it matter? She knew it.
“Where is she now?” Ursula asked.
Loerke raised his shoulders, to convey his complete ignorance and indifference.
“That is already six years ago,” he said; “she will be twenty-three years old, no more good.”
Gerald had picked up the picture and was looking at it. It attracted him also. He saw on the pedestal, that the piece was called “Lady Godiva.”
“But this isn’t Lady Godiva,” he said, smiling good-humouredly. “She was the middle-aged wife of some Earl or other, who covered herself with her long hair.”
“À la Maud Allan,” said Gudrun with a mocking grimace.