"Three more strokes," he said quietly, "and you will have finished your picture. I shall never finish mine. Perhaps you will be good enough to set it right for me. I am not coming here again. I don't seem to have caught the true expression; what do you think? But I am not going to let it worry me, for I am sure you will promise to do your best for me. See, I will hand over these colors and these brushes to you, and no doubt you will accept the palette as well. I have no further use for it."
Helen Stanley took the palette which he held out toward her, and looked at him as though she would wish to question him.
"It is very hot here," he continued, "and I am going out. I am tired of work."
He hesitated, and then added: "I should like you to come with me, if you can spare the time."
She packed up her things at once, and the two friends moved slowly away, he gazing absently at the pictures, and she wondering in her mind as to the meaning of his strange mood.
When they were on the steps inside the building, he turned to Helen Stanley and said:
"I should like to go back to the pictures once more. I feel as if I must stand among them just a little longer. They have been my companions for so long that they are almost part of myself. I can close my eyes and recall them faithfully. But I want to take a last look at them; I want to feel once more the presence of the great masters, and to refresh my mind with their genius. When I look at their work, I think of their life, and can only wonder at their deaths. It was so strange that they should die."
They went back together, and he took her to his favorite pictures, but remained speechless before them, and she did not disturb his thoughts. At last he said:
"I am ready to go. I have said farewell to them all. I know of nothing more wonderful than being among a number of fine pictures. It is almost overwhelming. One expects Nature to be grand; but one does not expect Man to be grand."
"You know we don't agree there," she answered. "I expect everything grand and great from Man."