“Why did you come here, when it's so dangerous?”
“I had been working too hard, I wanted to see my country—after seven years, and when it's forbidden! But I'm ready to go back now.” He looked down at her, frowning.
“Had you a hard time in London, too?”
“Harder, at first—I couldn't speak the language. In my profession it's hard work to get recognised, it's hard work to make a living. There are too many whose interest it is to keep you down—I shan't forget them.”
“But every one is not like that?”
“No; there are fine fellows, too. I shan't forget them either. I can sell my pictures now; I'm no longer weak, and I promise you I shan't forget. If in the future I have power, and I shall have power—I shan't forget.”
A shower of fine gravel came rattling on the wall. Dawney was standing below them with an amused expression on his upturned face.
“Are you going to stay there all night?” he asked. “Greta and I have bored each other.”
“We're coming,” called Christian hastily.
On the way back neither spoke a word, but when they reached the Villa, Harz took her hand, and said: “Fraulein Christian, I can't do any more with your picture. I shan't touch it again after this.”