If she wanted men to battle beasts in combat, a festival arose for them to battle for her. Her husband was prouder of her every day. But it is the truth. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. She finished the olive and looked up. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. I have—run away. I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that.
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