"I did love the man as, it seemed to me, no woman could have loved a man before. He was almost penniless, but I did not mind that. I would have married him, and he would not have interfered with my ambitions. He would have been content to have me live away from him whilst I worked according to my own spirit, and developed the gifts he was the first to discover in me. For he was a painter, too; had starved to get a training in Europe, had starved while getting it. To help us get a start I was content at first to absorb myself in his work. That was a fatal mistake. I can scarcely trace out how it came about—and to linger on it makes me suffer terribly—but with the lapse of time I ceased to exist for him as a creature of flesh and blood. I suddenly realised that I had become a mere inspiration to him—it was only the artist in me he worshipped. All his heart and soul went into his work—he was no longer a man, but a mere mind wielding a brush. I can see him how absorbed before his canvas, tall and thin with his scholar's stoop—for Nesbit was a scholar! But it had to end at last. I cried bitterly for many a night after. I had a letter from him one fine day——"
"Announcing his engagement and asking you to congratulate him?" broke from Paul's lips. His eyes were too dry for tears.
"It is the only letter of his I haven't burnt. He is famous now, but the first picture he ever sold went to buy my turquoise necklace to match the comb I had from my mother. His example was a noble one—the first picture I am offered money for shall go to poppa instead. But he would never take the gift back, and now I value it as his. It has always given me great joy to wear it—in fact, that is my one great joy apart from my work."
"You still love him! You have loved him all through!" cried Paul.
Her face softened. "You see I have quite an extraordinary vein of sentiment in me. I am not sure whether I am not ashamed of it."
"Tell me, Lisa—if I may still call you Lisa—all those flirtations you told me about were true?"
"What a quaint question! You haven't drunk your coffee." He gulped down the cold contents of the tiny cup at one draught, for his mouth was parched.
"They all happened just as I told you, and I haven't told you a quarter."
"And do you mind my asking you another quaint question? Have you and Charlie ever kissed?"
"I have always liked to have nice men kiss me. It is a mania with me, and I shall go on doing so till the end of the chapter."