I can not fix it nearer. It is
bad taste to press me any farther."
She lifted her head from my arm and sat up right, though even then,
after a minute, her figure drooped languidly towards the side of the
chair, and she doubled one of her white, round arms on the wicker-
work to form a support. I stood silent, irritated, disappointed,
perplexed, biting my lips in nervous, absent-mindedness. She spoke
twice to me without my hearing what her words were, and I had to
apologise.
"I was only saying I should like you to see the "Death of
Hyacinthus" now it is finished: see the result of last year's
efforts and the cause of this year's ill-health!"
"Certainly; I want to see it very much. When may I?"
"To-morrow, if you like, but I want you to see the Academy first. I
should like you to come to it prejudiced, with your eyes full of all
the successful pictures of the year."
"Is it not at the Academy, Lucia?"
"Don't look so apprehensive!" she said, with a slight laugh. "It has
not been rejected--simply, I could not get it finished in time for
presentation. I was ill, and it just missed this season by a very
little."
"And now, what are you going to do with it?"
"I must offer it next year, that's all."
"What a disappointment for you!"
"Yes, I should have thought so some time ago; but I seem to be much
more apathetic now to everything.
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