Page:A Passionate Pilgrim and Other Tales (1875).djvu/307

Rh spare the poor little mortal the pain of his position. After that, I doubly valued the mother. She is the simplest, sweetest, most natural creature that ever bloomed in this brave old land of Italy. She lives in the memory of her child, in her gratitude for the scanty kindness I have been able to show her, and in her simple religion! She's not even conscious of her beauty; my admiration has never made her vain. Heaven knows I 've made no secret of it. You must have observed the singular transparency of her expression, the lovely modesty of her glance. And was there ever such a truly virginal brow, such a natural classic elegance in the wave of the hair and the arch of the forehead? I've studied her; I may say I know her. I 've absorbed her little by little; my mind is stamped and imbued, and I have determined now to clinch the impression; I shall at last invite her to sit for me!"

"'At last,—at last?'" I repeated, in much amazement. "Do you mean that she has never done so yet?"

"I 've not really had—a—a sitting," said Theobald, speaking very slowly. "I 've taken notes, you know; I 've got my grand fundamental impression. That's the great thing! But I 've not actually had her as a model, posed and draped and lighted, before my easel."