“It all depends on what you mean by good and bad work,” he said. “I think the object of a beautiful thing is only to be beautiful, and I think his things are bad because they are ugly—at least, they seem to me ugly.”
“But the object of all beauty is to bring us nearer God,” said May.
“Yet a work of art which arouses religious emotions is not a better work of art than one which does not. Otherwise, a chromo-lithograph of the Sistine Madonna would be a better work of art than that terrible splendid Salome in the Louvre.”
“I think Mr. Manvers’ things are immoral,” said May.
“You don’t understand, dear,” he said. “His things, so I think, are bad because he has a debased taste. It is his artistic sense that is warped, and it is that which shows in his work, and not his character. Besides, I think you are not fair to him, May.”
“Oh, but, Tom,” she said, with indignation in her voice, “think of his life, that life among those Paris artists, that horrible vice, and carelessness of living.”
Tom smiled.
“Where did you learn about the life of Paris artists?” he asked. “Manvers says they are most inoffensive little people as a rule.”
“I read all about it in ‘David Grieve,’” said May seriously. “It is horrible.”
This time he laughed right out.