"
She tried to look at the picture more closely, but fast-coming
tears blinded her. Then she rose, and averting her face hastily,
wiped her eyes, as she said in a low tone: "I can't understand it
at all, and the memory of Mr. Eltinge's kindness always overcomes
me. Please pardon my weakness. There, I won't waste any more of
your time," and she returned to her chair. But her face still wore
the uncertainty of an April day.
"Your affection for Mr. Eltinge," he said gently, "is as beautiful
as it is natural. No manifestation of it needs any apology, and
least of all to me, for I owe to him far more than life. But I am
paining you by recalling the past," he said regretfully, as Ida's
tears began to gather again. "Let me try to make amends by returning
at once to the present and to my work. Before I go on any farther
with your portrait I want you to put this rose-bud in your hair,"
and from a hidden nook he brought a little vase containing only
one exquisite bud. Ida had barely time to see that it was in color
and size precisely like the emblem of herself that he had thrown
away, and for a few minutes she utterly lost her self-control. She
buried her face in her hands, and her low, stifled sobs filled Van
Berg with the keenest distress and perplexity.
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