"It is not
the glitter, the sham, the applause," she hastened to explain, "but the
real work itself, that attracts and rewards me--the hidden labor of
fitly interpreting character--the hard, secret study after details.
This has become a positive passion, an inspiration. I may never become
the perfected artist of which I sometimes dream, yet it must be that I
have within me a glimmering of that art. I feel it, and cannot remain
false to it."
"Possibly love may enter to change your plans," he ventured to suggest,
influenced by the constantly changing expression of her face.
She flushed to the roots of her hair, yet her lips laughed lightly.
"I imagine such an unexpected occurrence would merely serve to
strengthen them," she replied quickly. "I cannot conceive of any love
so supremely selfish as to retard the development of a worthy ideal.
But really, there is small need yet of discussing such a possibility."
She stood aside as he made a movement toward the open door, yet, when
he had stepped forth into the hall, she halted him with a sudden
question:
"Do you intend returning at once to Denver?"
"No, I shall remain here.
Pages:
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104