“_Do not know!_ But remember that I _do_ know the pictures! Ha!” The
huge Russian snatched from his breast pocket a very small flat jade
case, snapped it open, extracted a minute, orange-colored cigarette,
which he stuck into a very long black holder, and began to smoke
ferociously. Out of the astonishing clouds which at once began to drift
from his quivering and expansive nostrils his voice growled and
reverberated huskily.
“Can one see the pictures and not adore the dancer? But, I forget. You,
Mr. Weyman, have seen the pictures, I understand, without allowing
yourself to become at all disturbed by their beauty. You have even seen
the painter himself. Seen him once plain! Alive! In the flesh! Even
called him ‘Friend’! But from you who has ever heard a word of his great
art? How is this? Ha! He had to wait and wait and wait until he was
dying and a little trifler with art, this little Mr. Frye, came along
and thought the paintings pretty. And it is this little dabbler, this
no-account would-be painter, who consoles the dying genius, who promises
that his life’s work shall be shown, shall be recognized. While you, who
knew him for years—Joan says it has been many years—your part has been
kindly, oh, so very, very kindly, to take his daughter, the divine child
of his muse, and employ her as a servant in your household. But you may
intend kindness. One never knows. The certainty is that you are blind.
Your perception of beauty is dead or never existed.... I,—I have come to
see the dancer.”
“Michael! You’re being outrageous. Hugh, he’s not responsible. Don’t
even notice him. He sometimes gets this way.”
Joan was up, moving about restlessly. Suddenly she stopped, swung about,
put a hand on Schwankovsky’s arm.
“Michael!” she spoke as to a sleepwalker, cautiously but firmly. “Wait
till you see your dancer. You may find that all this excitement is sheer
waste, that Hugh is right, and Ariel is quite ordinary. Besides, she
isn’t exactly a servant here. You misunderstood me. She’s a
companion-nurse. There’s quite a little difference.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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