’ ‘I don’t want to think it,’ he said, and she thrilled to the savagery in his tone. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. I came to beg you instead to do me the honour of becoming my wife. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. ’ ‘It is well seen you are not Gérard,’ Melusine said, but thankful now that he was not. Wood, softening her asperity.
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