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For at least that night, by the bridge of the Grannoch water, she believed that her heart was broken. Ralph put his hand towards her with some unformed idea of sympathy. He murmured vague words of comfort, as he might have done to a wailing child that had hurt itself; but he had no idea how to still the tempestuous grief of a passion-pale woman.
Ambition as he formerly understood it had no more meaning for Wilfrid; the fine ardour of his being rejected grosser nourishment and burned in altar-flame towards the passion-pale woman whom he after all called wife.
We have all seen in our own day in England how a certain curious and fascinating type of beauty, invented and emphasised by two imaginative painters, has so influenced Life that whenever one goes to a private view or to an artistic salon one sees, here the mystic eyes of Rossetti's dream, the long ivory throat, the strange square-cut jaw, the loosened shadowy hair that he so ardently loved, there the sweet maidenhood of 'The Golden Stair, the blossom-like mouth and weary loveliness of the 'Laus Amoris, the passion-pale face of Andromeda, the thin hands and lithe beauty of the Vivian in 'Merlin's Dream. And it has always been so.
Or give me a half-open sulphira, with suggestive odors and soft curving leaves, passion-pale in tint, or a gorgeous amaryllis produced by artful development, clothed like a queen in state, bearing erect her magic beauty. No more wild roses for me!
He said, in a voice vibrant with fierce joy: "It is You!" She answered, in a shaking tone, like a child: "Yes, I had to come," and stood there looking at him, face uplifted, lips apart. He drew nearer. "Why?" said he, in a whisper. "Why?" She did not reply. For a long moment they regarded each other, passion-pale in the moonlight. "Was it because you knew I must be here!" he asked.
We have all seen in our own day in England how a certain curious and fascinating type of beauty, invented and emphasised by two imaginative painters, has so influenced Life that whenever one goes to a private view or to an artistic salon one sees, here the mystic eyes of Rossetti's dream, the long ivory throat, the strange square-cut jaw, the loosened shadowy hair that he so ardently loved, there the sweet maidenhood of 'The Golden Stair, the blossom-like mouth and weary loveliness of the 'Laus Amoris, the passion-pale face of Andromeda, the thin hands and lithe beauty of the Vivian in 'Merlin's Dream. And it has always been so.
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