Barnes nodded.
“Exactly,” he answered. “I mean that all the time I have felt the same towards Eleanor that you do. I mean that I have been fighting for my pictures just as you have been fighting for your symphonies. The difference is that—until Joe came back—I have had to fight myself, too. I have had to stand back helpless and look on.”
“And now?” demanded Langdon.
Barnes took a long breath. He met Langdon’s hot eyes steadily.
“And now,” he said, “I’ve come to claim my rights.”
“What are they?” inquired Langdon.
“The privilege of making my love known to her—the privilege of winning her if I can. The privilege,” he added slowly, “of putting that sunrise we looked at together into colors as you would put it into music.”
For a moment Langdon stared at him in silence. Then he groped for his chair. He sat leaning forward with his forehead in his hand. When he finally looked up, his face was set.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I think you have that right.”
“That and nothing more,” replied Barnes. “I don’t want you to think that Eleanor herself has—has given me any encouragement in this.”