"I have no way of relieving myself of your presence," said Ouida, "save by invitation, as this is the only apartment at my disposal. I presume I shall be compelled to hear what you have to say."
"I was seeking curios," said Doane, whose malicious smile revealed the fact that he was lying, "and a neighbor of yours informed me that a lady, once proud and rich, had a very fine piece of statuary for sale. I called to see it, not knowing who the owner might be, and was dumbfounded to find it was you!"
"Mistaken, sir, as you usually are," said Ouida, "mistaken in all your facts. There is no lady here; only a woman of sorrow, one acquainted with much grief. I have nothing to sell, or give away."
"I see a marble figure there," said he, pointing to the one work of art that lent radiance and dignity, even to that humble abode. "Is that your work?"
"Yes," was the curt reply.
"What is it?" he said.
"I will not tell you."
"I know, so you might as well."
"If you know," she said, "then there is no necessity for me to give you any information."
"Let's throw deception to the winds," said he, unmasking himself. "It is 'The Modern Hercules.' I came to buy it of you."
"It is not for sale."
"Not for sale!" he said, "when the price I'd pay for it would enable you to hold up your head in the world again?"
"Sir," said she, filled to the quick with indignation, "I want neither your gold, sarcasm, advice nor presence."
