Kingcote was much interested; he promised himself to read this contribution as soon as possible.
When at length they reached the “Market Night,” it was very difficult to get a view of the canvas. But for Isabel a few glances were enough.
“Oh, I don’t like that at all!” she exclaimed positively, moving away from the throng. “Those faces are disgusting. I should not like to have such a picture as that in my house.”
“In that I agree with you,” Kingcote said. Hilda had also come away and was listening. “But it is a wonderful picture for all that.”
“What a pity he paints such things! Why don’t you make him choose pleasant subjects?”
“I imagine Gabriel’s answer if I said such a thing to him,” said Kingcote, smiling. “I suppose the artist must paint what he can and will; our likes and dislikes will not much affect him. But don’t you admire the skill and power, at all events?”
Hilda went to look again, guided by this remark; she snapped up anything that seemed likely to instruct her taste with the eager voracity of a robin.
But Isabel only shook her head and shuddered a little.
“Is the other picture as bad?” she asked.
“It’s just opposite; come and look.”