"Fine!" Clancy murmured from a full mouth.
[VIII]
Clancy's ideas of studios had been gained from the perusal of fiction. So the workmanlike appearance of the room on the top floor of Sophie Carey's house on Waverly Place was somewhat of a surprise to her.
Its roof was of glass, but curtains, cunningly manipulated by not too sightly cords, barred or invited the overhead light as the artist desired. The front was a series of huge windows, which were also protected by curtains. It faced the north.
About the room, faces to wall, were easels. Mrs. Carey turned one round until the light fell upon it.
It was a large canvas, which Clancy supposed was allegorical. Three figures stood out against a background of rolling smoke above a scene of desolation—a man, a woman, and a child, their garments torn and stained, but their faces smiling.
"Like it?" asked Mrs. Carey.
"Why—it's wonderful!" cried Clancy.