“I wish,” he murmured, “I wish I had never gone there,—I wish I had been content to stay with you.”
El-Râmi laughed a little, but it was to hide a very different emotion.
“My dear fellow,” he said lightly, “I am not an old woman that I should wish you to be tied to my apron-strings. Come, make a clean breast of it; if not the champagne, what is it that has so seriously disagreed with you?”
“Everything!” replied Féraz emphatically. “The whole day has been one of discord—what wonder then that I myself am out of tune! When I first started off from the house this morning, I was full of curious anticipation—I looked upon this invitation to an artist’s studio as a sort of break in what I chose to call the even monotony of my existence,—I fancied I should imbibe new ideas, and be able to understand something of the artistic world of London if I spent the day with a man truly distinguished in his profession. When I arrived at the studio, Mr. Ainsworth was already at work—he was painting—a woman.”
“Well?” said El-Râmi, seeing that Féraz paused, and stammered hesitatingly.
“She was nude,—this woman,” he went on in a low shamed voice, a hot flush creeping over his delicate boyish face,—“A creature without any modesty or self-respect. A model, Mr. Ainsworth called her,—and it seems that she took his money for showing herself thus. Her body was beautiful; like a statue flushed with life,—but she was a devil, El-Râmi!—the foulness of her spirit was reflected in her bold eyes—the coarseness of her mind found echo in her voice,—and I—I sickened at the sight of her; I had never believed in the existence of fiends,—but she was one!”
El-Râmi was silent, and Féraz resumed—
“As I tell you, Ainsworth was painting her, and he asked me to sit beside him and watch his work. His request surprised me,—I said to him in a whisper, ‘Surely she will resent the presence of a stranger?’ He stared at me. ‘She? Whom do you mean?’ he inquired. ‘The woman there,’ I answered. He burst out laughing, called me ‘an innocent,’ and said she was perfectly accustomed to ‘pose’ before twenty men at a time, so that I need have no scruples on that score. So I sat down as he bade me, and watched in silence, and thought——”
“Ah, what did you think?” asked El-Râmi.
“I thought evil things,” answered Féraz deliberately. “And, while thinking them, I knew they were evil. And I put my own nature under a sort of analysis, and came to the conclusion that, when a man does wrong, he is perfectly aware that it is wrong, and that, therefore, doing wrong deliberately and consciously, he has no right to seek forgiveness, either through Christ or any other intermediary. He should be willing to bear the brunt of it, and his prayers should be for punishment, not for pardon.”