'Churchill,' he said seriously, 'you must put away your work for an hour. I want to speak to you about something very important.'
Colin laid down his graver reluctantly, and turned to look at his unexpected visitor.
'Why, great heavens, Mr. Audouin,' he said, 'what can be the matter with you? You really look as white as that marble.'
'Matter enough, Churchill. Who do you think has been to see Winthrop? Why, John Truman.'
'Oh, I know,' Colin answered cheerfully. 'I sent him myself. And what did he say then?'
'He said that Winthrop ought to go back to America, and that he would never, never, never make a decent painter.'
Colin whistled to himself quickly, and then said, 'The dickens he did! How remarkable! But did Winthrop show him the landscapes?' 'Yes, and from what he says, Truman seems to have thought worse of them than even he thought of the figure pieces.'
'Impossible!' Colin cried incredulously. 'I don't believe it; I can't believe it. Truman knows a landscape when he sees it. There must be some mistake somewhere.'
'I'm afraid not,' Audouin answered sadly. 'I've begun to despair about poor Winthrop myself, a great deal of late, and to reproach myself terribly for the share I've had in putting his genius on the wrong metals. The thing we've got to do now is to face the actuality, and manage the best we can for him under the circumstances. Churchill, do you know, Hiram threatens to go back to America by the next steamer, and take to farming for a livelihood.'
Colin whistled low again. 'He mustn't be allowed to do it,' he said quickly. 'He must be kept in Rome at all hazards. If we have to lock him up in jail or put him into a lunatic asylum, we must keep him here for the present, whatever comes of it. I'm sure as I am of anything, Mr. Audouin, that Hiram Winthrop has a splendid future still before him.'