'I don't know,' replied Trist suavely.
'Because,' continued the other in his best 'private-view-of-the-Academy' style, 'that is the only fault I have to find with her. Her figure is perfect, except that she is a trifle too slight—if you understand.'
'Indeed,' very gently.
'From an artistic point of view, of course,' explained Hicks with a graceful wave of his hand, full of modest deprecation. For some unknown reason a sudden sense of discomfort had come over him.
'Ah, I am not an artist ... thank goodness!'
Hicks glanced uneasily across the table at his companion. There was something in the calm tone of his voice that was not quite natural, a peculiar thrill as if of some suppressed emotion which might have been laughter, but was more probably anger. William Hicks was not endowed with that species of brute courage which enables its possessor to enter boldly into controversy, wordy or otherwise. He was eminently a lover of peace, and for its gentle sake was ever ready to suppress pride, honour, or any other inconvenient passion likely to prove inimical to its preservation.
He had mixed with men and women of all shades and tastes. They were mostly affected, hypocritical, insincere, and utterly wearisome; but there is one virtue which we cannot help acquiring from contact with our fellow-beings, however silly, however shallow and profitless, their influence may be. This virtue is tact, and William Hicks possessed a sufficiency of it to smooth his own path through life. If he failed to use it for the benefit of others, neglected to render the footsteps of others less stony and less difficult, he was, perhaps, no worse in such respect than the majority of us.
He now began to perceive that he had taken the wrong road towards gaining the esteem (or perhaps the toleration) of this plain-spoken, honest student of war.
Trist was not to be impressed by the social position of this dilettante dabbler in the fine arts. Soul, pure unvarnished soul, had no effect upon his mental epidermis. Poetry in curious dress-clothes, behind a singular cambric tie, failed to touch his inmost being. Then a brilliant inspiration came to this ambitious youth who attempted to be all things to all men. For once he would be natural. On this one occasion sincerity should grace his actions and his wondrous thoughts.
'I say, Trist,' he remarked almost earnestly, 'I met Martin of the Royal Engineers the other day, and he told me that it is common mess-room gossip in Ceylon that Alice Huston is having a miserable life of it out there.'