You cannot see the
coloring to the best advantage!"
"Am I not a painter also?" asked Varillo playfully, putting his arm
round her waist,--"And can I not guess the effect in the morning
light as well as if I saw it? Come, Angela mia! Unveil the great
prodigy!" and he laughed,--"You began it before we were affianced;--
think what patience I have had for nearly two years!"
Angela did not reply at once. Somehow, his light laugh jarred upon
her.
"Florian," she said at last, raising her truthful, beautiful eyes
fully to his, "I do not think you quite understand! This picture has
absorbed a great deal of my heart and soul--I have as it were,
painted my own life blood into it--for I mean it to declare a truth
and convey a lesson. It will either cover me with obloquy, or crown
me with lasting fame. You speak jestingly, as if it were some toy
with which I had amused myself these three years. Do you not believe
that a woman's work may be as serious, as earnest, and strongly
purposeful as a man's?"
Still clasping her round the waist, Florian drew her closer, and
pressing her head against his breast, he looked down on her smiling.
"What sweet eyes you have!" he said, "The sweetest, the most
trusting, the most childlike eyes I have ever seen! It would be
impossible to paint such eyes, unless one's brushes were
Raffaelle's, dipped in holy water.
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