And now that he had weakly yielded, here was this creation of the genius who loved her, to put him quite down. He was like one waking to the sanity of reality from a dream in which he has figured as all that he is not but longs to be. "Even if there had been no one else seeking her," he said to himself, "what hope was there for me? And with this man loving her— Whether she loves him as yet or not, she will, she must, sooner or later." Beside the power to evoke such enchantment as that which lived and breathed before him, his own skill at cheating and lying in order to shift the position of sundry bags of tawny dirt seemed to him so mean and squalid that he felt as if he were shrinking in stature and Raphael were towering. At last, he was learning the lesson of humility—the lesson that is the beginning of character.
"I'll not wait," said he, in a voice that smote the heart of Boris, the fellow being sensitive to feeling's faintest, finest note. "Say, please, that I had to go."
Raphael astonished himself by having an impulse of compassion. But he checked it. "He'd better go," he said to himself. "Seeing her would only increase his misery." And he silently watched Armstrong move heavily toward the door into the hall. The big Westerner's hand was on the portière and his sad gray eyes were taking a last look at the picture. The faint rustle of her approach made him hesitate. Before he could go, she entered. She was not in the silver-white evening dress Raphael expected, but in the house dress she was wearing when he came.
"I'm just going," Armstrong explained. "I shan't interrupt your sitting."
"Oh, that's off for to-day," replied she. "Now that I've had the trouble of changing twice on your account, you'll have to stop awhile. Morning is better for a sitting, anyhow. We shouldn't have had more than half an hour of good light."
Boris was tranquilly acquiescent. "To-morrow morning!" he said, with not a trace of irritation.
"If you can come at noon."
"Very well."
He covered the picture, which had been quite forgotten by all three in the stress of the meeting of living personalities. He had a queer ironic smile as he pushed it back against the wall, took up his hat and coat.
"You're not going," she objected.