Then, as Arthur grew more composed, he and his aunt looked at each other for some moments in silence.
"Aunt, you are right.

It is the Holy Virgin!" "Oh! Arthur," she groaned.
"It is my Madonna!" "Poor boy!" sighed she.
"It is the face I worship." "Arthur! Arthur!" and his aunt despairingly patted her knees slowly with her hands.
"But her name is not Mary." Aunt Winnifred looked surprised.
"Her name is Diana." "Diana ?" echoed his aunt, as if she were losing her mind.

"Oh! I beg your pardon.

Then it's only a portrait after all?
Yes, yes.

Diana who ?" Arthur Merlin curled one foot under him as he sat, and, lighting a fresh cigar, told Aunt Winnifred the lovely legend of Latmos--talking of Diana and Endymion, and thinking of Hope Wayne and Arthur Merlin.
Aunt Winnifred listened with the utmost interest and patience.