“You must dare with a woman.”
Her arms had been resting on his shoulders—she threw them around his neck.
“Oh, my Master—now and ever.”
Conscience slipped into paradise. He unwound her arms.
“You forget my—secret.”
She moved her chin bewitchingly upward.
“You have sealed my lips.”
He kissed them again. “And you can love me despite that? I am not worthy of such a sacrifice.”
Her bosom heaved beneath the blouse, her eyes kindled with the old spiritual fire, her voice rang passionately.
“You are worthy! Life has been too cruel to you—you need a woman’s heart to cherish you, you shall not be starved of the sunshine, you shall work in happiness. Ah! that is what I have learned here in this happy, liberal air. Art is the child of joyful labor—it is the sunshine of life. You are sad, miserable, and it harrows my heart. Oh, if I can bring joy and peace to the soul of a man like you, if I can indeed inspire your Art, my wretched life will not have been wasted. You have told me that I could, tell it me again.”