“Now understand me,” said Ouida, imperiously, “I am not offended at anything any one has said. This, above all other places, is Liberty hall. Law, ordinary social rules, have long been banished, but as we were talking, I was seized with a monstrous, overwhelming inspiration. I must be alone tonight. I felt as though I might carve the boldest stroke of ‘A Modern Hercules.’ Go! nor stay upon the order of your going.”
No protest prevailed, and the trio left; nor did they stop on the street to offer consolation to each other.
CHAPTER X. A LOVERS’ QUARREL.
While this most interesting affair was taking place between Ouida and her three admirers in one part of the house, another scene was being enacted in the studio, no less absorbing to the participants. Marie Salmon and Milton Royle, the art student, so objectionable to her father, were engaged in the most serious conversation of their young lives.
“So,” said she, “you could not content yourself at Harvard?”
“No. The restraint imposed by the set rules of college was slowly sapping up and killing my ambition. So I came here to realize my artistic dreams.”
“Your leaving the university, Milton, has seriously displeased me.”
“In what way, dearest Marie?”
“Don’t attempt to mollify me by endearing terms. Now, you know that you had been selected on the boat crew, and the girls have whispered all around that you were afraid to stay.”