Her face darkened. "I'm sorry. I know I could make a good thing of you."
"Thank you for the compliment, but it is out of the question at present. Next summer, if you come out, I will be very glad to give the time for it. And that reminds me, you promised to show me your pictures when I came, and your studio."
"Did I? Well, you shall see them, although they are not as good as I shall do next year. One has to learn to handle new material. Your Western atmosphere is so different from that of Giverney, in which we all paint in Paris; then, the feeling of the landscape is so different; everything is so firm and crisp in line—but I am going to get it! 'There is the mystery of light as well as of the dark,' Meunnot used to say to us, and if I can get that clear shimmer, and the vibration of the vivid color of the savage in the midst of it—"
She broke off as if in contemplation of the problem, rapt with question how to solve it.
"There speaks the artist in you, and it is fine. But I'd like you to see the humanitarian side of life, too," he replied.
"There is none," she instantly replied, with a curious blending of defiance and amusement. "I belong to the world of Light and Might—"
"And I to the world of Right—what about that?"
"Light and Might make right."
"Your team is wrongly harnessed—Light and Right are co-workers. Might fears both Light and Right."
Mrs. Wilcox, who had been listening, fairly clapped her hands. "I'm glad to have you refute her arguments, Captain. She is absolutely heartless in her theories—in practice she's a nice girl."