It was but a moment when Horatio Nugent, the great preacher, appeared before the sculptress!
“By admitting me to your presence, may I hope there is a truce between us?” he almost humbly said.
“Neither peace nor courtesy moved me to see you,” was her unsatisfactory answer.
“Then why your apparent graciousness?”
“I desire,” said Ouida, “to declare a never-ending war.”
“Will you not,” appealed the preacher, “even listen to what I have to say?”
“No. Your course admits of no explanation. Let me tell you now, you can never creep again within the circle of my friendship.”
“If you could but dig beneath the surface,” he audibly sighed, “and see why I preached my sermon against the nude in art, ’twould be you, not I, seeking pardon.”
“I seek your pardon after that which you have done? Listen,” said the woman, “you played the part of a friend. You sought me out. To you I unfolded my dreams, my conceptions. You said they were divine, and yet when I attended your church, you thundered forth invectives against my art, and hold me up to public ridicule. You would attempt to win a public applause as fleeting as the dew upon the morning rose. If I had loved you, I would hate you for this act.”