“Is doing one’s duty a good way to feed heart, soul, and imagination?”
As if he had caught a glimpse of what was going on in her mind, Paul answered emphatically,—
“Excellent; for if one is good, one is happy, and if happy, one can work well. Moulding character is the highest sort of sculpture, and all of us should learn that art before we touch clay or marble.”
He spoke with the energy of a man who believed what he said, and did his best to be worthy of the rich gift bestowed upon him. The sight of her violets in a glass of water, and Giovanni staring at her with round eyes, suddenly recalled Psyche to a sense of the proprieties which she had been innocently outraging for the last ten minutes. A sort of panic seized her; she blushed deeply, retreated precipitately to the door, and vanished, murmuring thanks and apologies as she went.
“Did you find him? I thought you had forgotten,” said Miss Dickenson, now hard at work.
“Yes, I found him. No, I shall not forget,” returned Psyche, thinking of Gage, not Giovanni.
She stood before her work eying it intently for several minutes; then, with an expression of great contempt for the whole thing, she suddenly tilted her cherished Venus on to the floor, gave the classical face a finishing crunch, and put on her hat in a decisive manner, saying briefly to the dismayed damsels,—
“Good-by, girls; I shan’t come any more, for I’m going to work at home hereafter.”