"Softening of the brain," he muttered, in dismal apology to himself.
"And you painted those wretched little boys instead of the beautiful things that Nature provides for us out here, Mr. Booth?" Sara was saying to the artist beside her.
"Of course, I managed to get in a bit of Nature, even at that," said he, with a smile. "Boys are pretty close to earth, you know. To be perfectly honest, I did it in order to get away from the eminently beautiful but unnatural things I'm required to paint at home."
"Your subjects wouldn't care for that," she warned him, in some amusement.
"Oh, as to that, the comments of the boys on the things I did up here weren't altogether flattering to me, so I'm chastened. They were more than frank about them. We live to learn."
"Where are the canvases?"
"I immortalised them, one and all, by destroying them by fire and sword, only the sword happened to be a penknife. They made a most excellent bonfire."
"And so, you've nothing to show for your fortnight?"
"Oh, yes. A most desirable invitation to forget my failures at your expense."
"Poof!"