“Then you fear that you have failed in the Demeter?” asked Daphne.

“Failed?” repeated the other.  “That seems too strong.  Only the work is not proving as good as I originally expected.  For the head we both used a model—­you will see—­whose fitness could not be surpassed.  But the body!  Myrtilus knows how earnestly I laboured, and, without looking to the right or the left, devoted all my powers to the task of creation.  True, the models did not remain.  But even had a magic spell doubled my ability, the toil would still have been futile.  The error is there; yet I am repairing it.  To be sure, many things must aid me in doing so, for which I now hope; who knows whether it will not again be in vain?  You are acquainted with my past life.  It has never yet granted me any great, complete success, and if I was occasionally permitted to pluck a flower, my hands were pricked by thorns and nettles!”

He pursed up his lips as if to hiss the unfriendly fate, and Daphne felt that he, whose career she had watched from childhood with the interest of affection, and to whom, though she did not confess it even to herself, she had clung for years with far more than sisterly love, needed a kind word.

Her heart ached, and it was difficult for her to assume the cheerful tone which she desired to use; but she succeeded, and her voice sounded gay and careless enough as she exclaimed to the by no means happy artist and Myrtilus, who was just returning:  “Give up your foolish opposition, you obstinate men, and let me see what you have accomplished during this long time.  You promised my father that you would show your work to no one before him, but believe my words, if he were here he would give you back the pledge and lead me himself to the last production of your study.  Compassion would compel you disobliging fellows to yield, if you could only imagine how curiosity tortures us women.  We can conquer it where more indifferent matters are concerned.  But here!—­it need not make you vainer than you already are, but except my father, you are dearest in all the world to me.  And then, only listen!  In my character as priestess of Demeter I hereby release you from your vow, and thus from any evil consequences of your, moreover, very trivial guilt; for a father and daughter who live together, as I do with your uncle, are just the same as one person.  So come!  Wearied as I am by the miserable hunting excursion which caused me such vexation, in the presence of your works—­rely upon it—­I shall instantly be gay again, and all my life will thank you for your noble indulgence.”

While speaking, she walked toward the white house, beckoning to the young men with a winning, encouraging smile.

It seemed to produce the effect intended, for the artists looked at each other irresolutely, and Hermon was already asking himself whether Daphne’s arguments had convinced Myrtilus also, when the latter, in great excitement, called after her:  “How gladly we would do it, but we must not fulfil your wish, for it was no light promise—­no, your father exacted an oath.  He alone can absolve us from the obligation of showing him, before any one else, what we finish here.  It is not to be submitted to the judges until after he has seen it.”