little anxious, he hardly knew why: had he bethought himself he would have put the picture out of sight before Malcolm came.
"You wouldn't be offended if I made a remark, would you, Mr. Lenorme?" said Malcolm at length.
"Certainly not," replied Lenorme, something afraid, nevertheless, of what might be coming.
"I don't know whether I can express what I mean," said Malcolm, "but I will try. I could do it better in Scotch; I believe, but then you wouldn't understand me."
"I think I should," said Lenorme. "I spent six months in Edinburgh once."
"Ow ay! but you see they dinna thraw the words there jist the same gait they du at Portlossie. Na, na! I maunna attemp' it."
"Hold! hold!" cried Lenorme. "I want to have your criticism. I don't understand a word you are saying. You must make the best you can of the English."
"I was only telling you in Scotch that I wouldn't try the Scotch," returned Malcolm. "Now I will try the English. In the first place, then — but really it's very presumptuous of me, Mr. Lenorme; and it may be that I am blind to something in the picture ——"
"Go on," said Lenorme, impatiently.
"Don't you think, then, that one of the first things you would look for in a goddess would be — what shall I call it? — an air of mystery?"
"That was so much involved in the very idea of Isis — in her especially — that they said she was always veiled, and no man had ever seen her face."
"That would greatly interfere with my notion of mystery," said Malcolm.
"There must be revelation before mystery. I take it that mystery is what lies behind revelation — that which as yet revelation has not reached. You must see something — a part of something — before you can feel any sense of mystery about it. The Isis forever veiled is the absolutely unknown, not the mysterious."
"But, you observe, the idea of the parable is different. According to that, Isis is forever unveiling; that is, revealing herself in her works, chiefly in the women she creates, and then chiefly in each of them to the man who loves her."
"I see what you mean well enough; but not the less she remains the goddess, does she not?"
"Surely she does."
"And can a goddess ever reveal all she is and has?"
"Never."
"Then ought there not to be mystery in the face and form of your Isis on her pedestal?"
"Is it not there? Is there not mystery about the face and form of every woman that walks the earth?"
"Doubtless; but you desire — do you not? — to show that although this is the very lady the young man loved before ever he sought the shrine of the goddess, not the less is she the goddess Isis herself?"
"I do, or at least. I ought; only — by Jove! — you have already looked deeper into the whole thing than I."
"There may be things to account for that on both sides," said Malcolm. "But one word more to relieve my brain: if you would embody the full meaning of the parable, you must not be content that the mystery is there: you must show in your painting that you feel it there; you must paint the invisible veil that no hand can lift, for there it is, and there it ever will be, though Isis herself raise it from morning to morning."
"How am I to do that?" said Lenorme, not that he did not see what Malcolm meant, or agree with it: he wanted to make him talk.
"How can I, who never drew a stroke or painted anything but the gunwale of a boat, tell you that?" rejoined Malcolm. "It is your business. You must paint that veil, that mystery, in the forehead and in the eyes and the lips — yes, in the cheeks and the chin and the eyebrows, and everywhere. You must make her say without saying it that she knows oh, so much, if only she could make you understand it! — that she is all there for you, but the all is infinitely more than you can know. As she stands there now ——"
"I must interrupt you," cried Lenorme, "just to say that the picture is not finished yet."
"And yet I will finish my sentence if you will allow me," returned Malcolm. "As she stands there — the goddess — she looks only a beautiful young woman, with whom the young man spreading out his arms to her is very absolutely in love. There is the glow and the mystery of love in both their faces, and nothing more."
"And is not that enough?" said Lenorme.
"No," answered Malcolm. "And yet
