Romantic art knows nothing of a mere sensational
illusion. Dear me!--I must soften it at once.'
He was evidently quite unconscious that he had given my mother's
features to Geraldine, and attributed the effect to his own
superlative strength as a dramatic artist.
I ran to her: she soon recovered, but asked to be taken to Belgrave
Square at once. Wild as I was with the desire to go in quest of
Winifred; goaded as I was by a new, nameless, shapeless dread which
certain words of Wilderspin's had aroused, but which (like the dread
that had come to me on the night of my father's funeral) was too
appalling to confront, I was obliged to leave the studio and take my
mother to the house of my aunt, who was, I knew, waiting to start for
the yacht.
XI
THE IRONY OF HEAVEN
I
As we stepped into the carriage, Sleaford, full of sympathy, jumped
in. This fortunately prevented a conversation that would have been
intolerable both to my mother and to me.
'Studio oppressively close,' said Sleaford; 'usual beastly smell of
turpentine and pigments and things.
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