"I should think you had a great deal of talent," she said. "Have you studied long?"
Studied? It required some effort to adjust my thoughts to the standard implied; but perceiving a perhaps lofty conception of artistic attainment beneath the query, I replied:
"Well, an artist is never done learning, is he? And in the sense of having much to learn, I am still a student, no doubt."
"Ah, yes," Miss Jones replied.
She looked from my picture up at the sky-light, then round at the various studies, engravings, and photographs on the walls. This discursive glance was already familiar to me, and its flitting lightness whetted my curiosity as to possible non-committal depths beneath.
"Inspiration, now," Miss Jones pursued, surprising me a good deal, for she seldom carried on a subject unprompted, "that of course, is not dependent on study."
I felt in this remark something very derogatory to my Manon—an inspiration, and in the best sense, if ever anything was. Did Miss Jones not recognize the intellectual triumphs embodied in that presentment of frail woman-hood? I was certainly piqued, though I replied very good-humouredly:
"I had rather flattered myself that my picture could boast of that quality."
Miss Jones's glance now rested on me rather seriously.
"An inspired work of art should elevate the mind."