“I didn’t mean in that way. I simply adored your work. Have you not been successful? People say, you know, that success spells mediocrity.”
“Those are the people, I expect, who would say anything to vindicate their own want of it. Success is a question of some quality in one which finds its affinity in the greatest number.”
“Well, it seems to me, that is the same thing, because the greatest number are perfect idiots in everything but their own business. Are you painting about here?”
“A little.”
“All by yourself?”
“No—I have a companion with me.”
The moment I had said it a sense of the equivocalness of my position flashed upon me, and I wished that I could have warned Fifine before making that impulsive admission. But it was too late now.
“Does he paint too?” asked Miss Brooking.
“It is not a he,” I said.
“O!”