"You declared you could not draw," said she, wavering between anger and surprise.
"Oh! It is only a little dilletante performance, which I do not venture to call talent. Only enough to enable me to criticise. Here, Miss Clifford."
He returned the leaf to her. Jessie looked silently at it and then at him.
"I really admire your versatility, of which you have just given me a proof. You are everything imaginable, Mr. Sandow! Politician, journalist, artist.--"
"And merchant," said Gustave, completing the sentence. "Yes, I am a sort of universal genius, but share alas, the fate of all geniuses; I am not recognised by my contemporaries."
His half-ironical inclination showed that for the moment he looked upon her as representing his contemporaries. Jessie made no reply, but began to collect her drawing materials.
"It is quite chilly. I ought to go in. Pray do not disturb yourself; I will send the servant to fetch my things," and declining with a motion of her hand any assistance from him, she took the drawing from the table, and left the summer-house.
Gustave shook his head as he looked after her.
"I seem really to have fallen into disgrace; the last few weeks she has been quite changed. I would rather hear the most violent attack on my selfishness and want of thought than this cool and measured bitterness. I fear it is high time for me to tell all the truth, and yet I dare not risk Frida's future by so doing. A premature catastrophe would spoil all."
At that moment a carriage drove past the villa. It was Sandow returning from business. He came direct to the garden.