"No, I must finish it now," he said. "I do not believe in death-bed repentance. There is very little more to do, for I have worked quickly to-day. Just one thing wants doing—a shadow is to be deepened in the mouth. Do you see what I mean? No, it is too dark for you to see it, though I can see it quite clearly. I wish I could explain to you what I mean, but you will never understand. Don't you see it is I who stand there on that easel? This thing which you think is me is nearly dead. It is like Pygmalion, isn't it, only the other way round? He made his statue come to life, but I have put my life into that picture. If ever the story of Pygmalion is true, I could have done that; it is easier than what I have done."
"Yes, dear," said Margery, "I knew the picture would be a wonderful thing. But it is too dark to look at it now and too dark for you to paint. Let us come away, and we will find those chapters you spoke of. I have got them all, I tell you. They seem to me very good and very important—quite as important now, and much better, than the chapters you have written there."
She put her hand through Frank's arm, and all her soul went into that touch.
"Come," she said; "they are not here."
For one moment she felt Frank's arm tremble under the loving press of her fingers, but he said nothing and did not move.
"You asked me to kiss you this afternoon," she said; "and now, Frank, I ask you to kiss me. Kiss me on the lips, for we are husband and wife."
And standing by that painted horror he kissed her.
"And now come out for a few moments," said Margery, "for I cannot tell you here."
Frank obeyed, and together in silence they walked out on to the terrace.
"Let us sit down here," said she, "and I will tell you what you have forgotten."