By this time they had reached the easel and stood back of it in observation.
Blue, intensely blue, and thickly blue was the sky that Billy had lavished. Green and rigid were the palms. Purple was the palace. Very black lay the shadows like planks across the orange road.
Miss Falconer looked as if she doubted her own eyes. Hurriedly she unfolded her lorgnette.
"It—it's just blocked in," said Billy, speaking with a peculiar diffidence.
"Quite so—quite so," murmured the lady, bending closer, as if fascinated.
Lady Claire said nothing. Stealing a look at her, Billy saw that she was looking it instead.
Miss Falconer tried another angle. The sight of that lorgnette had a stiffening effect upon Billy B. Hill.
"You get it?" he said pleasantly. "You get the—ah—symphonic chord I'm striking?"
"Chord?" said Miss Falconer. "Striking," she murmured in a peculiar voice.
"It's all in thirds, you see," he continued.