“Personally, one could hardly wish him to escape,” said Zoe, “for however much poor Donna Olimpia was to blame, he must have treated her shamefully. You can’t wonder at her coming to Therma, for she knew only too well that she could not trust him out of her sight. Do you remember how lovely she was when we were at Bashi Konak? That must have been when they first met, of course, but she had changed very much when she told me about her marriage. And she was really devoted to him, poor thing!”
“The man ought to be flayed alive!” muttered Armitage, in a tone so ferociously at variance with his usual sunny kindliness that Zoe was betrayed into a laugh. He looked ashamed, and took up his picture again. “Well, Princess, we have kept poor Kalliopé waiting a long time, but I thought you ought to know how matters stood.”
“Oh dear, I hope she won’t have looked at the other picture!” cried Zoe, hurrying up the steps, but she was too late. Danaë was standing beside the easel, contemplating her idealised portrait with a pleased smile.
“Am I really as beautiful as that?” she asked them as they came up, with a naïve frankness which betrayed no doubt of its answer. For the moment, in this softened mood, her expression was really not unlike that of the picture, Zoe thought. But as Armitage reached the top of the steps, she saw the second canvas in his hands.
“Ah, I thought this one was too small!” she cried. “Have you made two pictures of me, lord? But you might have let me wear the European clothes for one of them! Are they both exactly alike?”
In his perplexity, Armitage was still holding the larger picture, instead of placing it on the easel, and she came behind him and looked at it over his shoulder. Neither he nor Zoe ventured to say a word. Perhaps the girl would not notice the difference! But even as Zoe watched, a change came over the smiling face, and an angry sob broke from the beautiful lips. Danaë was at the easel again, her little dagger in her hand. Fiercely she drove it into the canvas, slitting it across and across and round the edge, then stood confronting them for a moment with stormy brow and heaving breast.
“You shall not mock me!” she gasped. More she would have said, but her fury would not let her speak. She snatched off her coin-decked cap and trampled upon it, caught up her apron and tore it into ribbons. Then the dagger which she had hurled from her caught her eye again, and Armitage sprang forward to seize it, fearing she would do herself an injury. His hand was actually on it, but she tore it away and struck at him as he tried to wrest it from her. Then, still in the same passion of silent rage, she hacked and hewed at one of her heavy plaits of hair, unheeding Zoe’s entreaties, until it was severed in her hand, and flung it at their feet. Then the tension relaxed, and she pressed her hands to her eyes and fled sobbing.
“I ought not to have done it. How could she understand unless it was explained to her? Of course she thought I was trying to make fun of her,” said Armitage, holding his wounded wrist.
“She had no business to look at the easel when she was told not,” said Zoe practically. “You must let me tell Linton to bring some hot water, and we will tie up your arm. I am afraid she must have hurt you a good deal.”
“Oh, I shall bear her mark!” he said, laughing, but Zoe thought that there was more in the words than a joke. Twisting his handkerchief round his wrist while she called to Linton, he stooped and picked up the severed plait from the floor. “What a pity!” he said.