Sylvia approached and stood behind him, but he did not recognise her presence, for he was absorbed in his work.
"How do you contrive——," Sylvia began.
Custance turned towards her with a quick start, for, like other artists, he had nerves that were peculiarly sensitive and reacted acutely to impressions. Seeing that the questioner was a beautiful girl, he regarded her with a kindly smile.
"Forgive my rudeness," said Sylvia, "the question was almost involuntary."
"The question is not yet completed. How do I contrive——?" he asked.
"How do you contrive to snatch up the colours of nature and place them on your canvas?"
"I have all the colours there," he said, pointing to his palette, "and so has every painter; but some of us approach nearer to Nature. I have never yet succeeded in quite pleasing myself. I have the deep blue of the sea, but not the representation of infinite depth and infinite power."
"You approach very closely to it," she answered. "Now sit down and paint, and let me watch you. I am a painter myself; not an artist like you, but one who dabbles a little in an amateur fashion."
"May I see your sketch book?" he asked, and took it from her hand. "Very good!" he cried. "Shall I tell you what I think?"
"Please do!"