“I didn’t mean to be either vague or flattering. It’s servile to be the one and weak to be the other. I said what I thought. Do you call it flattery to paint a beautiful portrait of Miss Lauderdale?”
“Not unless I make it more beautiful than she is,” answered the painter.
“You can’t.”
“That’s decisive, at all events,” laughed Crowdie. “Not but that I agree with you, entirely.”
“Oh, I don’t mean it as you do,” answered Griggs. “That would be flattery—exactly what I don’t mean. Miss Lauderdale is perfectly well aware that you’re a great portrait painter and that she is not altogether the most beautiful young lady living at the present moment. You mean flesh and blood and eyes and hair. I don’t. I mean all that flesh and blood and eyes and hair don’t mean, and never can mean.”
“Soul,” suggested Crowdie. “I was talking about that to Miss Lauderdale the last time she sat for me—that was on Wednesday, wasn’t it—the day before yesterday? It seems like last year, for some reason or other. Yes, I know what you mean. You needn’t get into such a state of frenzied excitement.”
“I appeal to you, Mrs. Crowdie—was I talking excitedly?”
“A little,” answered Hester, who was incapable of disagreeing with her husband.
“Oh—well—I daresay,” said Griggs. “It hasn’t been my weakness in life to get excited, though.” He laughed.
“Walter always makes you talk, Mr. Griggs,” answered Mrs. Crowdie.