'In future,' said Logotheti, 'I shall tell people that it is a portrait

of you.' 'Of me? Oh please, no!' cried Margaret anxiously, and blushing deeper.

'Don't!' Logotheti laughed.

'Did you think I was in earnest?' he asked.

The painting represented the head and shoulders of a woman--perhaps of

a goddess, though it had that strangely living look about the eyes and

mouth which belongs to all good portraits that are like the originals.

The woman's head was thrown back, her deep-set eyes were looking up

with an expression of strange longing, the rich hair flowed down over

her bare neck, where one beautiful hand caught it and seemed to press

the tangled locks upon her heart.

The picture's beauty was the beauty of life, for the features were not

technically faultless. The lips glowed with burning breath, the twining

hair was alive and elastic, the after-light of a profound and secret

pleasure lingered in the liquid eyes, blending with the shadow of pain

just past but passionately desired again.

Margaret gazed at the painting a few seconds, for it fascinated her

against her will. Then she laid down the small looking-glass and turned

away rather abruptly.

'I don't like to look at it,' she said, avoiding Logotheti's eyes. 'I

think it must be time to be going,' she added. 'Mrs. Rushmore will be

wondering where I am.' She went back across the room a little way with Logotheti by her side.

Suddenly he stopped and laughed softly.

'By Jove!' he exclaimed under his breath, pointing to the arm-chair in

which Madame De Rosa was sitting. 'She's fast asleep!' She was sleeping as peacefully as a cat after a meal, half curled up in

the big chair, her head turned to one side and her cheek buried in a

cushion of Rhodes tapestry. Margaret stood and looked at her with

curiosity and some amusement.

'She's not generally a very sleepy person,' said the young girl.

'The emotions of your first rehearsal have tired her out,' said

Logotheti. 'They don't seem to have affected you at all,' he added.

'Shall we wake her?' Margaret hesitated, and then bent down and touched the sleeping woman's

arm gently, and called her by name in a low tone; but without the

slightest result.

'She must be very tired,' Margaret said in a tone of sympathy. 'After

all, it's not so very late. We had better let her sleep a few minutes

longer, poor thing.' Logotheti bent his head gravely.

'We'll make up the time with the motor in going to Versailles,' he

said.




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