Cheriton’s gaze was long and particular.
“Upon my word,” said he, “they appear to grow goddesses at Slocum Magna.”
“And the vicinity,” said Jim.
“Certainly, my dear fellow; certainly the vicinity. We take that for granted.”
The greeting of Jim’s mother was extremely cordial.
“This is indeed an unlooked-for pleasure,” said Cheriton.
“Am I to be censured,” said Jim’s mother, “for urging my gifted son to follow the bent of his genius?”
“By no means,” said Cheriton. “If he really felt that the Welsh mountains and their picturesque inhabitants were calling him, it is most right. Velasquez would not have been Velasquez had he not obeyed the call to Italy.”
“I blame that Goose,” said Jim’s mother, severely. “She must write to say that they had got Muffin at Pen-y-Gros, as well as the mountains. He gave up painting his Normandy peasant girls on the day he received the letter.”
“May I ask one question, Miss Muffin?” said Cheriton. “Have you brought your mauve?”