Mungold."
"Mungold!" Stanwell cried with a sharp note of irony; but her white
look checked it on his lips.
"I know all you are going to say," she murmured, with a kind of
nobleness which moved him even through his sense of its
grotesqueness. "But you must see the distinction, because you first
made it clear to me. I can take money earned in good faith--I can
let Caspar live on it. I can marry Mr. Mungold; because, though his
pictures are bad, he does not prostitute his art."
She began to move away from him slowly, and he followed her in
silence along the frozen path.
When Stanwell re-entered his studio the dusk had fallen. He lit his
lamp and rummaged out some writing-materials. Having found them, he
wrote to Shepson to say that he could not paint Mrs. Van Orley, and
did not care to accept any more orders for the present. He sealed
and stamped the letter and flung it over the banisters for the
janitor to post; then he dragged out his unfinished head of Kate
Arran, replaced it on the easel, and sat down before it with a grim
smile.
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