"It's only--an idea that came into my head because
of--something I can't explain. But, oh, do be honest with me, Captain
Hannaford, if you are my friend, for I can never ask any one else, and I
can never ask you again. It's just asking _itself_ now, this question,
for I want an answer so much. Is there anything very different about me,
and the way I behave, from other girls or women--those who try to be
good and nice, I mean?"
It was a strange appeal, and went to the man's heart. If Mary had
puzzled him once, and if at first he had thought cynically of her, as he
thought of most pretty women he met, love had washed away those thoughts
many days ago: and in this moment when she turned to him for help he
wondered how it was that he had ever been puzzled. He saw clearly now
into the heart of the mystery, and it was a heart of pure rose and
gold, like the heart of an altar fire.
"Wait a minute," he said, "before I answer that, and let me ask _you_ a
question. Did you ever hear the story or see the play of Galatea?"
"No. Not that I remember. What has it to do with me?"
"I'll tell you about her, and then maybe you'll see. The story is that a
Greek sculptor made a beautiful statue which he worshipped so
desperately that the gods turned it into a living girl. Well, you can
imagine just how much that girl knew about life, can't you? She looked
grown up, and was dressed like other young women of her day, but any
kitten with its eyes open was better equipped for business than she, for
kittens have claws and Galatea hadn't.
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