“You know I have not; I only imagine the situation. To explain more fully what I mean, I would say one could more readily draw into one’s arms the Venus of Medicis than that of Milo—one could venture to caress a Psyche, but scarcely a Juno. I have never liked the idea of tall women; they are like big handsome birds—useful, no doubt, but not half so sweet as the little fluttering singing ones.”
“Well, and what other attributes must this imagined lady of yours possess?” asked El-Râmi, vaguely amused at his brother’s earnestness.
“Oh, many more charms than I could enumerate,” replied Féraz. “And of one thing I am certain, she is not to be found on this earth. But I am quite satisfied to wait; I shall find her, even as she will find me some day. Meanwhile I ‘imagine’ love, and in imagination I almost feel it.”
He went on playing, and El-Râmi resumed the writing of his letter to Kremlin, which he soon finished and addressed ready for post. A gentle knock at the street door made itself heard just then through the ebb and flow of Féraz’s music, and Féraz left off his improvisation abruptly and went to answer the summons. He returned, and announced with some little excitement:
“Madame Irene Vassilius.”
El-Râmi rose and advanced to meet his fair visitor, bowing courteously.
“This is an unexpected pleasure, Madame,” he said, the sincerity of his welcome showing itself in the expression of his face, “and an unmerited honour for which I am grateful.”
She smiled, allowing her hand to rest in his for a moment; then, accepting the low chair which Féraz placed for her near his brother’s writing-table, she seated herself, and lifted her eyes to El-Râmi’s countenance—eyes which, like those of Féraz’s “ideal ladye-love,” were “deep and sweet, and of no pronounced colour.”
“I felt you would not resent my coming here as an intrusion,” she began; “but my visit is not one of curiosity. I do not want to probe you as to your knowledge of my past, or to ask you anything as to my future. I am a lonely creature, disliked by many people, and in the literary career I have adopted I fight a desperately hard battle, and often crave for a little—just a little sympathetic comprehension. One or two questions puzzle me which you might answer if you would. They are on almost general subjects; but I should like to have your opinion.”
“Madame, if you, with your exceptional gifts of insight and instinct, are baffled in these ‘general’ questions,” said El-Râmi, “shall not I be baffled also?”