'Why Maud Allan?' he replied. 'Isn't it so? I always thought the legend
was that.' 'Yes, Gerald dear, I'm quite SURE you've got the legend perfectly.' She was laughing at him, with a little, mock-caressive contempt.
'To be sure, I'd rather see the woman than the hair,' he laughed in
return.
'Wouldn't you just!' mocked Gudrun.
Ursula rose and went away, leaving the three together.
Gudrun took the picture again from Gerald, and sat looking at it
closely.
'Of course,' she said, turning to tease Loerke now, 'you UNDERSTOOD
your little Malschulerin.' He raised his eyebrows and his shoulders in a complacent shrug.
'The little girl?' asked Gerald, pointing to the figure.
Gudrun was sitting with the picture in her lap. She looked up at
Gerald, full into his eyes, so that he seemed to be blinded.
'DIDN'T he understand her!' she said to Gerald, in a slightly mocking,
humorous playfulness. 'You've only to look at the feet--AREN'T they
darling, so pretty and tender--oh, they're really wonderful, they are
really--' She lifted her eyes slowly, with a hot, flaming look into Loerke's
eyes. His soul was filled with her burning recognition, he seemed to
grow more uppish and lordly.
Gerald looked at the small, sculptured feet. They were turned together,
half covering each other in pathetic shyness and fear. He looked at
them a long time, fascinated. Then, in some pain, he put the picture
away from him. He felt full of barrenness.
'What was her name?' Gudrun asked Loerke.
'Annette von Weck,' Loerke replied reminiscent. 'Ja, sie war hubsch.
She was pretty--but she was tiresome. She was a nuisance,--not for a
minute would she keep still--not until I'd slapped her hard and made
her cry--then she'd sit for five minutes.' He was thinking over the work, his work, the all important to him.
'Did you really slap her?' asked Gudrun, coolly.
He glanced back at her, reading her challenge.
'Yes, I did,' he said, nonchalant, 'harder than I have ever beat
anything in my life. I had to, I had to. It was the only way I got the
work done.' Gudrun watched him with large, dark-filled eyes, for some moments. She
seemed to be considering his very soul. Then she looked down, in
silence.
'Why did you have such a young Godiva then?' asked Gerald. 'She is so
small, besides, on the horse--not big enough for it--such a child.' A queer spasm went over Loerke's face.
'Yes,' he said. 'I don't like them any bigger, any older. Then they are
beautiful, at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--after that, they are no use
to me.' There was a moment's pause.