"
She blushed slightly, and said, rather coldly, "Good evening, Miss
Mayhew," thus rendering Van Berg aware of the latter's presence.
The artist only frowned, and gave no other recognition of Ida's
proximity.
"Since you can't have your way, I shall make the most of my present
good fortune. Is not that a beautiful cluster?"
"It is indeed, with one exception. Do you not see that this
defective bud mars the beauty of all the others?"
"A 'worm I' the bud fell on its damask cheek.' I took it out and
killed it, and was in hopes that if I placed the injured flower in
water with the others it might still make a partial bloom. You will
think me absurd when I tell you I felt sorry for it, and thought
how many roses and lives would be more perfect were it not for some
gnawing 'worm i' the bud.'"
"The 'worm' in Shakespeare's allusion," said the artist, lightly,
"is redeemed by its association and symbolism; but the one that
has been at work here was a disagreeably prosaic thing that you
rightly put your foot upon. The bud, as it now appears, suggest
the worm more than anything else. So, please, let me cut it out;
for art cannot tolerate anything so radically marred and defective.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345