'Some--irregularly. She can sell her models. She has a certain
reclame.'
'How much for?'
'A guinea, ten guineas.'
'And are they good? What are they?'
'I think sometimes they are marvellously good. That is hers, those two
wagtails in Hermione's boudoir--you've seen them--they are carved in
wood and painted.'
'I thought it was savage carving again.'
'No, hers. That's what they are--animals and birds, sometimes odd small
people in everyday dress, really rather wonderful when they come off.
They have a sort of funniness that is quite unconscious and subtle.'
'She might be a well-known artist one day?' mused Gerald.
'She might. But I think she won't. She drops her art if anything else
catches her. Her contrariness prevents her taking it seriously--she
must never be too serious, she feels she might give herself away. And
she won't give herself away--she's always on the defensive. That's what
I can't stand about her type. By the way, how did things go off with
Pussum after I left you? I haven't heard anything.
Pages:
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200