“Please,” he pleaded, quietly. “If you’ll only listen——”
She turned and walked towards the window. “Isn’t it punishment enough for it all to end like this,” he went on, “without making it seem as though I were worse than I am? Really, I’m not as bad as I’m painted.”
It was an unfortunate phrase. An awkward silence followed it, in which he was conscious that Miss Darrow had turned suddenly from the window and was facing the Thing upon the easel, which was now revealed to them both in all its uncompromising ugliness. From the center of a myriad of streaks of paint something emerged. Something in dull tones, staring like a Gorgon from its muddy illusiveness. To Burnett it had been only a canvas daubed with infelicitous paint. Now from across the room it seemed to have put on a smug and scurrilous personality and odiously leered at him from its unlovely background.
“Don’t,” cried Burnett. “Don’t look at the thing like that.”
But the girl did not move. She stood before the easel, her head a little on one side, her eyes upon the canvas.
“It’s really not Victorian, is it?” she asked calmly.
“You must listen!” cried Burnett, leaving his post at the door. “I insist. You know why I did this mad thing. I’ve told you. I’d do it again——”
“I’ve no doubt you will,” she put in scornfully. “It doesn’t seem to have been so difficult.”
“It was. The hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. You gave me the chance. I took it. I won’t regret it. It was selfish—brutal—anything you like. But I don’t regret—nine wonderful mornings, twenty-seven precious hours—more, I hope, than you’ve given any man in your life.” He made one rapid stride and took her in his arms. “I love you, Millicent, dear. I’ve loved you from the first moment—there in the picture gallery. Yes, I’d do it again. Every moment I’ve blessed the luck that made it possible. Don’t turn away from me. You don’t hate me. I know it. You couldn’t help feeling a response to a love like mine.” He held her close to him, raising her head at last until her lips were level with his own. But he did not touch them. She still struggled faintly, but she would not open her eyes and look at him.