"Yes, monsieur!"
"Because of my spoiled picture?" Waywardness flickered up momentarily.
"No, monsieur!"
"Then why?"
Jacqueline glanced up swiftly, then dropped her eyes.
"Because, monsieur—being but a woman—I say to myself 'life is long, and other pictures may be painted; but with love—or friendship—'"
"Mademoiselle, that is sufficient! You are charming—you are sympathetic—- but, like many others, you place too great a value upon those words 'love' and 'friendship.' It is like this! If I quarrel with my friend it is doubtless sad, but it only affects myself; if, on the contrary, I paint a bad picture I am making a blot upon a beautiful world!"
"And what of the heart, monsieur? May there not be sad stains upon the heart—even if no eyes see them?"
"Now, mademoiselle, you are talking sentiment!"
"And you, monsieur, are materialistic?" For a second a flash of mischief showed in the blue eyes.