"If we had been married this morning, and you were coming back to the studio with me after the theatre I should be quite happy and I could finish the picture."
She said nothing, only seemed to quiver in silence, and looked away from me out of the window.
We took stalls and had very good seats, but what that play was like I never knew. I tried to keep my eyes on the stage, but it floated away from me in waves of light and colour. I was lost in wondering where I had better go to get fresh inspiration, to escape from the picture, from Viola, from myself. Away, I must get away. _Coelum, non animum, mutant qui trans mare current_ is not always true. Our mind is but a chameleon and takes its hues from many skies.
"It's early yet. Come and have supper somewhere with me, you had a wretched dinner."
Anything to keep her with me for an hour longer! Any excuse to put off, to delay that frightful wrench that seems to tear out the inside of both body and soul which parting from her to-night would mean.
"Do you want me to come to the studio with you afterwards?" she asked.
I looked back at her with my heart beating violently. Her face was very pale, and the pupils in her eyes dilated.
We had moved through the throng and passed outside.
The night was fine. We walked on, looking out for a disengaged hansom. I could hardly breathe: my heart seemed stifling me. What was in her mind? What would the next few minutes mean for us both?
My brain swam. My thoughts went round in dizzying circles.
"We shan't have time for supper and to go to the studio as well," I answered quietly.
"I don't think I want any supper," she replied.
A sudden joy like a great flame leapt through me as I caught the words.
A crawling hansom came up. I hailed it and put her in and sprang in beside her, full of that delight that touches in its intensity upon agony. "Westbourne Street," I called to the man. "No. 2, The Studio."
I stood looking through the window of my studio thinking.
The worst had happened, or the best, whichever it was. Viola had become my mistress. She had resolutely refused to be my wife, and the alternative had followed of necessity. The picture had brought us together, it held us together. I could not separate from her without sacrificing the picture, and so destroying her happiness, as she said, and rendering useless all that she had done for me so far.