"I intend to make these rooms like two beautiful pictures," said
Christine, "and here shall be the chief display of your taste."
Dennis could scarcely believe his ears, or realize that the cold, beautiful girl who a few short months ago did not notice him now voluntarily gave him such opportunities to urge his suit. The success that a man most covets seemed assured, and his soul was intoxicated with delight. He said, "You intimated that my tasks might be menial, but I feel as I imagine a Greek artist must have done, when asked to decorate the temple of a goddess."
"I think I told you once before that your imagination overshadowed your other faculties."
Her words recalled the painted girl whom she by a strange coincidence so strongly resembled. To his astonishment he saw the same striking likeness again. Christine was looking at him with the laughing, scornful expression that the German lady bent upon the awkward lover who kneeled at her feet. His face darkened in an instant.
"Have I offended you?" she asked, gently; "I remember now you did not admire that picture."
"I liked everything about it save the expression of the girl's face. I think you will also remember that I said that such a face should be put to nobler uses."
Christine flushed slightly, and for a moment was positively afraid of him. She saw that she must be more careful, for she was dealing with one of quick eye and mind. At the same time her conscience reproached her again. The more she saw of him the more she realized how sincere and earnest he was; how different from ordinary society-men, to whom an unsuccessful suit to a fair lady is a mere annoyance. But she was not one to give up a purpose readily for the sake of conscience or anything else, and certainly not now, when seemingly on the point of success. So she said, with a slight laugh, "Do not compare me to any of those old pagan myths again;" and having thus given a slight reason, or excuse, for her unfortunate expression, she proceeded to beguile him more thoroughly than ever by the subtile witchery of smiles, glances, and words, that might mean everything or nothing.
"You seem to have a study on your easel there," said Dennis, as they stood together in the studio. "May I see it?"
"No," said she; "you are to see nothing till you see a triumph in the portrayal of feeling and lifelike earnestness that even your critical eye cannot condemn."
She justly feared that, should he see her work, he might discover her plan; for, however she might disguise it, something suggesting himself entered into all her studies.