So he took away the lamp, and shut Olga's mouth,
and there she would be at her piano just going to sing.
These artistic agonies had rewards which more than compensated for
them, for regularly now he took his drawing-board and his paint-box
across to her house, and sat with her while she practised. There were
none of love's lilies low or yawning York now, for she was very busy
learning her part in Lucretia, spending a solid two hours at it every
morning, and Georgie began to perceive what sort of work it implied to
produce the spontaneous ease with which Brunnhilde hailed the sun. More
astounding even was the fact that this mere learning of notes was but
the preliminary to what she called "real work." And when she had got
through the mere mechanical part of it, she would have to study. Then
when her practice was over, she would indulgently sit with her head in
profile against a dark background, and Georgie would suck one end of
his brush and bite the other, and wonder whether he would ever produce
anything which he could dare to offer her. By daily poring on her face,
he grew not to admire only but to adore its youth and beauty, by daily
contact with her he began to see how fresh and how lovely was the mind
that illuminated it.
"Georgie, I'm going to scold you," she said one day, as she took up her
place against the black panel. "You're a selfish little brute.
Pages:
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296