"Yes: I used to think they were like that," he said. "I expect they were far harder and meaner and fouler really. People can't be as gutless as I've made them all out to be."
"Oh, but they're not gutless, do you think? They are kind and jolly, and slightly ridiculous.... Isn't that it? Like most people in fact, but you've seen the funny side of them."
The man from the box-office had returned, and handed Armstrong a strip of paper.
"Fuller than ever, Mr. Armstrong, you see," he said with a sort of proprietorship, like the head-waiter at a restaurant when guests find a dish to their taste. "And advance bookings go well on to the other side of Christmas."
Unaccountably, the dish was not to Armstrong's taste.
"Blasted fools people are," he remarked, and nodded curtly to the man.
"I'm one of them, you know," said Charles.
"Yes: I forgot that. But don't you ever despise your pictures—anyhow distrust them—just because they are popular?"
Charles laughed.
"I haven't yet been in the position to find out what effect popularity would have on my own estimate," he said. "Oh, but wait a minute—I went to a gallery the other day, where there was a picture of mine, and there happened to be some people round it, so I went among them and listened to what they said. They were rather complimentary, and—and I think I liked them for it. Anyhow it didn't affect my own estimate."