“Oh, Amory, do you think you need defend yourself to me——?”
“But I want to tell you. It wasn’t to a man—it was to a beautiful object—the Antinöus in the Louvre. I dare say it was foolish, but I thought it so beautiful, and anybody with any understanding at all would have regarded it as—don’t think me silly—as a sort of dedication—to my art—and I have been faithful to my ideal ever since——”
Cosimo’s eyes were moist with emotion. The beautiful gesture! What a ripping touch that would be if anybody ever wrote the life of the painter of “Barrage!”... “Oh!” he breathed reverentially. “You are superb, Amory.”
“And of course I’m not counting that stupid thing at my aunt’s wedding——”
“That——,” said Cosimo, straightway dismissing it.
“And that’s all—absolutely all,” said Amory, softly and bitterly. “To all intents and purposes I’ve never been kissed.... So don’t you think, Cosimo, that from her at any rate I might have been spared this?”
She lifted the shallow opals of her eyes.
Suddenly Cosimo ceased to be the still strong man. He became the hero, dreadful in his anger.
“It’s unbelievable—cruel!” he cried. “And I’m going to see about it! You wait here—I’m going now—I’m going to get to the bottom of this—you stay here till I come back.”
He was half-way across the room, reaching for his hat.