"
Garth sat perfectly silent.
"Depend upon it," continued Nurse Rosemary, "she never sees herself
as 'The Wife'--'The Mother.' Is she a wife?".
Garth hesitated only the fraction of a second. "Yes," he said, very
quietly.
Jane's hands flew to her breast. Her heart must be held down, or he
would hear it throbbing.
Nurse Rosemary's voice had in it only a slight tremor, when she
spoke again.
"Is she a mother?"
"No," said Garth. "I painted what might have been."
"If--?"
"If it HAD been," replied Garth, curtly.
Nurse Rosemary felt rebuked. "Dear Mr. Dalmain," she said, humbly;
"I realise how officious I must seem to you, with all these
questions, and suggestions. But you must blame the hold these
wonderful paintings of yours have taken on my mind. Oh, they are
beautiful--beautiful!"
"Ah," said Garth, the keen pleasure of the artist springing up once
more. "Miss Gray, I have somewhat forgotten them. Have you them
here? That is right. Put them up before you, and describe them to
me.
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