A full minute must have elapsed before a single word was uttered, and then Pacey said slowly, and in the voice of one deeply moved—
“Is she as beautiful as this?”
Dale started, and looked wonderingly at his friend.
“I say, is she as beautiful as this?” repeated Pacey, still without turning his head.
“Yes: I have hardly done her justice.”
“A woman to win empires—to bring the world to her feet,” said Pacey slowly. ”‘Beautiful as an angel’ is a blunder, lad. Such as she cannot be of Heaven’s mould, but sent to drag men down to perdition. Armstrong, lad, I pity you. I suppose there are men who would come scathless through such a trial as this, but they must be few.”
There was another long pause, and Pacey still gazed at the luminous face upon the canvas.
“Is that all you have to say?” said Dale at last.
“Yes, that is all, man. How can I attack you now? I knew that you had been tempted, and, in spite of appearances, I believed your word. I thought you had not fallen, and that I had been too hasty in all I said. Now I can only say once more, I pity you, and feel that I must forgive.”
Dale drew a deep breath, which came sighing through his teeth as if he were in pain.