“It is a miracle of power,” continued Glaston. “Miss Gerald felt, but she could not understand why she should feel, its power.”
There was a long pause, during which Markham stared blankly across the square, and the other leant back in his chair and watched the curling of his cigar clouds through the still air. From the garrison at the castle there came to them the sound of a bugle-call.
“I am greatly interested in that picture,” said Markham at length. “I should like to know all the details of its working out.”
“The expression of the face——”
“Ah, I know all of that. I mean the scene—that hill seen through the arch—the pavement of the oriental apartment—the—the figure—how did the painter bring them together?”
“That is of little consequence in the study of the elements of the symbolism,” said Mr. Glaston.
“Yes, of course it is; but still I should like to know.”
“I really never thought of putting any question to the painter about these matters,” replied Glaston. “He had travelled in the East, and the kiosk was amongst his sketches; as for the model of the figure, if I do not mistake, I saw the study for the face in an old portfolio of his he brought from Sicily.”
“Ah, indeed.”
“But these are mere accidents in the production of the picture. The symbolism is the picture.”