“Yes,” said Carroll.
“He spoke of seeing you quite recently. He said he had had a studio the summer before in Hillfield, where I believe you were living at the time.” Nothing could have excelled the smoothness and even sweetness of Fowler's tone and manner; nothing could have excelled the mercilessness of his blue eyes beneath rather heavy lids, and the lines of his fine mouth.
“Yes, he did have a studio there,” assented Carroll.
“I believe that is quite a picturesque country about there.”
“Quite picturesque.”
“Well, Dodge did not make a mistake going so far afield, though, for, after all, his specialty is the human figure, and here it is only trees that are not altered in their contour by the fashions. Yes, he was doing some really fine work. There was one study of a child—”
“He made one very good thing in Hillfield,” said Carroll, “a view from the top of a sort of half-mountain there. I believe he sold it for a large price.”
“Well, I am glad of that,” said Fowler. “Dodge has always been hampered in that way. Yes, he told me all the news, and especially mentioned having lived in the same village with you.”
“Yes,” said Carroll, with the dignity of a dauntless spirit on the rack.
“I hope your wife and family are well,” said Fowler, further.