She was gone before he discovered anything to say, leaving him to walk up and down the deserted room and think about her as clearly as his somewhat dislocated thoughts permitted, until she returned with both arms full of portfolios, boards, and panels.
“Now,” she said with a breathless smile, “you may mortify my pride and rebuke my vanity. I deserve it; I need it; but Oh!—don’t be too severe––”
“Are you serious?” he asked, looking up in astonishment from the first astonishing drawing in colour which he held between his hands.
“Serious? Of course––” She met his eyes anxiously, then her own became incredulous and the swift colour dyed her face.
“Do you like my work?” she asked in a fainter voice. 320
“Like it!” He continued to stare at the bewildering grace and colour of the work, turned to another and lifted it to the light:
“What’s this?” he demanded.
“A monotype.”
“You did it?”
“Y-yes.”