He used sometimes to go into the little, high-niched, ordinary room which served her as a studio, and find her working at a panel six inches square, at an open casement, profiled against the deep blue Roman sky.

She received him with a meek-eyed dignity that made her seem like a painted saint on a church window, receiving the daylight in all her being.

The breath of reproach passed her by with folded wings.

And yet Rowland wondered why he did not like her better.

If he failed, the reason was not far to seek.