“That depends upon the artist’s aptitude. After twenty years a real artist is still studying.”
“Oh, my poor boy!” moaned Mrs. Hudson, finding the prospect, under every light, still terrible.
“Now this study of the living model,” Mr. Striker pursued. “Inform Mrs. Hudson about that.”
“Oh dear, no!” cried Mrs. Hudson, shrinkingly.
“That too,” said Rowland, “is one of the reasons for studying in Rome. It ‘s a handsome race, you know, and you find very well-made people.”
“I suppose they ‘re no better made than a good tough Yankee,” objected Mr. Striker, transposing his interminable legs. “The same God made us.”
“Surely,” sighed Mrs. Hudson, but with a questioning glance at her visitor which showed that she had already begun to concede much weight to his opinion. Rowland hastened to express his assent to Mr. Striker’s proposition.
Miss Garland looked up, and, after a moment’s hesitation: “Are the Roman women very beautiful?” she asked.
Rowland too, in answering, hesitated; he was looking straight at the young girl. “On the whole, I prefer ours,” he said.
She had dropped her work in her lap; her hands were crossed upon it, her head thrown a little back. She had evidently expected a more impersonal answer, and she was dissatisfied. For an instant she seemed inclined to make a rejoinder, but she slowly picked up her work in silence and drew her stitches again.