Jean's loyalty rose to do battle.
"It's to Craig's credit that he could not see her truly," she retorted. "If she takes her tints from the man with whom she talks, then he has painted into her something of himself, something fine. But wasn't it hers for the moment? Why, then, shouldn't he show her at her best, not her worst?"
MacGregor laughed immoderately.
"That is stanch and wifely and nonsensical. It is not a portrait-painter's business to supply the virtues or the vices. His palette ought to contain neither mud nor whitewash. It is his duty to see things as they are."
"But how can you expect Craig to see Miss Hepworth as she is? He's not—"
"Middle-aged, like myself," suggested MacGregor, as she hesitated. "Say it! It makes your fling concrete, personal, feminine."
Jean's wrath cooled in a smile.
"I was going to add, cynical," she said. "Is that a personality?"
"It's wide of the mark, whatever we call it. I'm no cynic. If I were, I should merely stand by and laugh, not interfere."
"Don't put it that way."