“Stop declaiming those self-written press notices of your unapproachable superiority,” Larry interrupted. “If you use your breath up like that you'll drown on dry land. Besides, I just heard something better than this mere articulated air of yours. Better because from a person in her senses.”
“Heard it from whom?”
“Miss Sherwood.”
“Miss Sherwood! What did she say?”
“That you were a really great painter.”
“Huh!” snorted Hunt. “Why shouldn't she say that? I've proved it!”
“Hunt,” said Larry evenly, “you are the greatest painter I ever met, but you also have the distinction of being the greatest of all damned fools.”
“What's that, young fellow?”
“You love Miss Sherwood, don't you? At least you've the same as told me that in words, and you've told me that in loud-voiced actions every time you've seen her.”
“Well—what if I do?”