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Trumps: A Novel, a novel by George William Curtis |
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Chapter 64. Diana |
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_ CHAPTER LXIV. DIANA "Good-morning, Miss Hope." "Good-morning, Mr. Merlin." He bowed and seated himself, and the conversation seemed to have terminated. Hope Wayne was embroidering. The moment she perceived that there was silence she found it very hard to break it. "Are you busy now?" said she. "Very busy." "As long as men and women are vain, so long your profession will flourish, I suppose," she replied, lifting her eyes and smiling. "I like it because it tells the truth," replied Arthur, crushing his hat. "It omitted Alexander's wry neck," said Hope. "It put in Cromwell's pimple," answered Arthur. They both smiled. "However, that is not the kind of truth I mean--I mean poetic truth. Michael Angelo's Last Judgment shows the whole Catholic Church." Hope Wayne felt relieved, and looked interested. She did not feel so much afraid of the silence, now that Arthur seemed entering upon a disquisition. But he stopped and said, "I've painted a picture." "Full of poetic truth, I suppose," rejoined Hope, still smiling. "I've come to ask you to go and see that for yourself." "Now?" "Now." She laid aside her embroidery, and in a little while they had reached his studio. As Hope Wayne entered she was impressed by the spaciousness of the room, the chastened light, and the coruscations of rich color hanging upon the walls. "It's like the garden of the Hesperides," she said, gayly--"such mellow shadows, and such gorgeous colors, like those of celestial fruits. I don't wonder you paint poetic truth." Arthur Merlin smiled. "Now you shall judge," said he. Hope Wayne seated herself in the chair where Lawrence Newt had been sitting not two hours before, and settled herself to enjoy the spectacle she anticipated; for she had a secret faith in Arthur's genius, and she meant to purchase this great work of poetic truth at her own valuation. Arthur placed the picture upon the easel and drew the curtain from it, stepping aside as before to watch her face. The airy smile upon Hope Wayne's face faded instantly. The blood rushed to her hair. But she did not turn her eyes, nor say a word. The moment she felt she could trust her voice, she asked, gravely, without looking at Arthur, "What is it?" "It is Diana and Endymion," replied the painter. She looked at it for a long time, half-closing her eyes, which clung to the face of Endymion. "I have not made Diana tender enough," thought Arthur, mournfully, as he watched her. "How soundly he sleeps!" said Hope Wayne, at length, as if she had been really trying to wake him. "You think he merely sleeps?" asked Arthur. "Certainly; why not?" "Oh! I thought so too. But Lawrence Newt, who sat two hours ago just where you are sitting, said, as he looked at the picture, that Endymion was dead." Hope Wayne put her finger to her lip, and looked inquiringly at her companion. "Dead! Did he say dead?" she asked. "Dead," repeated Arthur Merlin. "I thought Endymion only slept," continued Hope Wayne; "but Mr. Newt is a judge of pictures--he knows." "He certainly spoke as if he knew," persisted the painter, recklessly, as he saw and felt the usual calmness return to his companion. "He said that if Endymion were not dead he couldn't resist such splendor of beauty." As Arthur Merlin spoke he looked directly into Hope Wayne's face, as if he were speaking of her. "Mr. Newt's judgment seems to be better than his memory," said she, pleasantly. "How?" "He forgets that Endymion did awake. He has not allowed time enough for the effect of Diana's eyes. Now I am sure," she said, shaking her finger at the picture, "I am sure that that silly shepherd will not sleep there forever. Never fear, he will wake up. Diana never looks or loves for nothing." "It will do no good if he does," insisted Arthur, ruefully, as if he were sure that Hope Wayne understood that he was speaking in parables. "Why?" she asked, as she rose, still looking at the picture. "Because goddesses never marry." He looked into her eyes with so much meaning, and the "do they?" which he did not utter, was so perfectly expressed by his tone, that Hope Wayne, as she moved slowly toward the door, looking at the pictures on the wall as she passed, said, with her eyes upon the pictures, and not upon the painter, "Do you know the moral of that remark of yours?" "Moral? Heaven forbid! I don't make moral remarks," replied Arthur. "This time you have done it," she said, smiling; "you have made a remark with a moral. I'm going, and I leave it with you as a legacy. The moral is, If goddesses never marry, don't fall in love with a goddess." She put out her hand to him as she spoke. He involuntarily took it, and they shook hands warmly. "Good-morning, Mr. Merlin," she said. "Remember the Round Table to-morrow evening." She was gone, and Arthur Merlin sank into the chair she had just left. "Oh Heavens!" said he, "did she understand or not?" _ |
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