Herman fixed his eyes resolutely on an ungainly group in pinkish clay
which represented an American commercial sculptor's idea of Romeo and
Juliet at the moment when the Nurse separates them with a message from
Lady Capulet. With artistic instinct he noted the stupidity of the
composition, the vulgarity of the lines, the cheap ugliness of the
group. In that singular abstraction which comes so frequently in
moments of high emotion, he let his glance wander to the pictures on
the wall, the enormities in embroidery which adorned the chair backs,
the garish hues of the rug lying before the open grate. Then it
occurred to him, with a vague sense of amusement, how great was the
incongruity between such a setting as this vulgar boarding-house
reception-room, and the woman before him. The idea brought to his mind
the contrast between the life to which Helen had come, and the life at
Rome, artistic, rich, and full of possibilities, which she had left.
The thought of Rome recalled instantly the old days there, almost a
score of years ago, when he had first known Ninitta. So vivid were the
memories which awakened, that he seemed to see again the Roman studio,
the fat old aunt, voluble and sharp eyed, who always accompanied her
niece when the girl posed; and most clearly of all did his inner vision
perceive the fresh, silent maiden whose exquisite figure was at once
the admiration and the despair of all the young artists in Rome.
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