“I know, I know! The explanation is quite unnecessary.” He smiled and waved his hand.
“Then why——?” She was still flushed and annoyed.
“One gets at other people’s views. I merely wondered how the—er—partnership appeared to your—er—intelligence. Now I know.”
“She did spoil him.” Anita disregarded them. “The time she wasted on him! In he came, you know, that day, and she went to meet him with the cowslips still in her hand, and shielding her eyes from the sun. That room of hers got all the morning sun.”
“What did she wear—the blue dress?” The Baxter girl was like a child being told a story.
“I forget. Anyway he stood looking her up and down till she reddened and began to laugh at him. And then he said—‘And cowslips too! What luck! Come along! Come along!’ ‘Oh, my good man!’ I said, ‘she’s in the middle of her writing!’ But it was useless to expostulate. He wanted her and so she went. I heard him as he dragged her off. ‘Madala, I’ve got such a notion!’ No, it was the great fault of her character, I consider, that she could never deny anyone, not even for her work’s sake. Still, I suppose one had to forgive it in that case, for that was the beginning, you know, of The Spring Song. She is painted just as she stood there that morning, literally gilded over with sunshine, and the flowers in her hands.”
“It’s the best thing he’s ever done, isn’t it?” said the Baxter girl.
“Best thing? It’s a master-piece. It’s Madala Grey.”
“When is he going to show it?” asked Mr. Flood.
Anita shrugged.