He seized a favourable moment, whilst her attention was otherwise engaged, to fetch her own portrait from behind the screen and arrange it on one of the smaller easels. Then she turned with some curiosity to see what he had prepared for her, and gave a little cry of delight.
"You are pleased with it?" he asked, gratified.
"And touched—deeply," she answered. "You have chosen the setting with excellent judgment. But what pleases me most is the absolutely fresh impression I now get of the picture itself. Though I have seen it grow, and have lived with it every day, I am really seeing it for the first time. It is a beautiful piece of work—I speak for the moment as if I were entirely unconnected with it." She stood examining it in silence, and he watched her face and every shade of expression that declared itself.
"And this truly is your personal impression of me?" she asked, with a new flash of the joyous, eager comrade.
"My everyday impression of you! I have another which I keep for Sundays—something with more of the stateliness of an olden time, with a far graver outlook and a deeper thoughtfulness."
"But this one is thoughtful and dignified, too, is it not?"
"Most decidedly. But it is a real warm human being as well. To tell the truth, I stand a little bit in awe of the other one."
"Poor me!" she laughed. She stood yet a moment contemplating the portrait, then turned her eyes away. "Oh, well," she said. "It will be a happiness to possess it, but a greater one to feel that, in some measure, it has helped to gain you the recognition that must be yours—a little sooner, a little later, signifies nothing. But I leave you in perfect confidence as to your career."
He bowed his head. "I shall not dare to disappoint your confidence. To justify it is what I shall live for before all things."
"I am content," she said. "I ask for nothing better than that our hopes shall be realised. I am glad you have chosen so charming a home for your labours. I hope you will be happy here."