"Won't you show me something that you are doing?"
"No, not yet. I am determined that when you see work of mine again the fatal defect which you pointed out shall be absent."
His eyes and face became eloquent with the hope she inspired. Was her heart, awakening from its long winter of doubt and indifference, teaching her to paint? Had she recognized the truth of his assurance that she must feel, and then she could portray feeling? and had she read in his face and manner that which had created a kindred impulse in her heart? He was about to speak, the ice of his reserve and prudence fast melting under what seemed good evidence that her smiles and kindness might be interpreted in accordance with his longings. She saw and anticipated.
"With all your cleverness, Mr. Fleet, I may prove you at fault, and become able to portray what I do not feel or believe."
"You mean to say that you work from your old standpoint merely?" asked
Dennis, feeling as if a sunny sky had suddenly darkened.
"I do not say that at all, but that I do not work from yours."
"And yet you hope to succeed?" "I think I am succeeding."
Perplexity and disappointment were plainly written on his face. She, with a merry and half-malicious laugh, turned to the piano, and sung:
From Mount Olympus' snowy height
The gods look down on human life:
Beneath contending armies fight;
All undisturbed they watch the strife.
Dennis looked at her earnestly, and after a moment said, "Will you please play that accompaniment again?"