He wanted to remember the music of her throbbing voice, and forget the
words it used to utter. The living girl's part was played and ended. Their
lives had crossed at right angles and would never meet again. "Nature makes
a glorious present to Art, and I am privileged to execute the deed of
gift," thought Barron; "that is the position in an epigram." He felt very
grateful to Joan. He knew her arm must have ached often enough, but whether
her heart would presently do so he hardly felt qualified to judge. The
incidents of that stormy day might have been buried in time ten years, so
faint was his recollection of them now. He remembered the matter with no
greater concern than the image of the shivering negresses in the blue water
at Tobago.
And so the picture, called "Joe's Ship," was finished, and while it fell
far short of what Barron had hoped, yet he knew his work was great and the
best thing he had done. A packing case for the canvas was already ordered
and he expected it upon the identical day that saw his farewell to Joan.
Bit by bit he had broken to her that it was not his intention to take her
with him, but that he must go to his house alone and order things in
readiness. Then he would come back and fetch her. And she had accepted the
position and felt wondrous sad at the first meeting with Barren after the
completion of the picture. It seemed as though a great link was broken
between them, and she realized now what folly her dislike of his work had
been.
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