Margery had got between him and the picture, and before he had finished speaking she had wheeled it round with its face to the wall.
"You've been working long enough," she said, "and you are coming out for a bit."
"Yes, that will be nice," said Frank, picking up the brush he had dropped and examining it. "Why, it is quite full of paint," he added, as if this remarkable discovery was quite worth comment.
"You dear, how extraordinary!" said Margery. "You usually paint with dry brushes, don't you?"
"Oh, I've been painting all morning, so I have!" said Frank, in the same listless, tired voice, and his eye wandered to the easel which Margery had turned round.
"No, you've got to let it alone," said she, guessing his intention. "You are not going to work any more till this afternoon."
Frank passed his hands over his eyes.
"I'm rather tired," he said. "I think I won't go for a walk. I'll sit down here if you will stop with me."
"Very good, for ten minutes; and then you must come out. It's a lovely morning, and we'll only stroll."
Frank looked out of the window.