The atmosphere of the place
depressed him. He doubted after all, that he would care for the dancing.
But as he began to wish he had not come the curtain went up, to show the
studio of a sculptor, empty save for the artist's marble masterpieces.
Through a large skylight, and a high window at the back of the stage, a
red glow of sunset streamed into the bare room. In the shadowy corners
marble forms were grouped, but in the centre, directly under the full
flood of rose-coloured light, the just finished statue of a girl stood
on a raised platform. She was looking up, and held a cup in one lifted
hand, as if to catch the red wine of sunset. Her draperies, confined by
a Greek ceinture under the young bust, fell from shoulder to foot in
long clear lines that seemed cut in gleaming stone. The illusion was
perfect. Even in that ruddy blaze the delicate, draped form appeared to
be of carved marble. It was almost impossible to believe it that of a
living woman, and its grace of outline and pose was so perfect that
Stephen, in his love of beauty, dreaded the first movement which must
change, if not break, the tableau. He said to himself that there was
some faint resemblance between this chiselled loveliness and the vivid
charm of the pretty child he had met on the boat. He could imagine that
a statue for which she had stood as model might look like this, though
the features seemed to his eye more regular than those of the girl.
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