"Thanks—it would be a relief," answered Elaine, but with a coldness in her greeting that struck him as curious.
A few coppers scattered the children; the peasant slunk sullenly away. His eye and Rivière's met, but there was no recognition on the part of the latter.
"Are you working this morning?" asked Elaine presently.
"No, I'm learning." He nodded towards her sketch-book. "May I continue the lesson?"
"Compliments are barred," she replied stiffly. "I neither give nor take them."
Rivière groped mentally for the reason of this curious change of attitude. Yesterday she had been frankly friendly; to-day she held herself distinctly aloof. Had he offended her in some way?
He continued soberly. "I'm not paying insincere compliments. It isn't your sketch which interests me so much as your method of sketching. The directness of it. The way you get to the heart of the subject without worrying over detail. The incisiveness. I'm mentally applying your method to the problems of my own work.... To stand here and watch you sketching is pure selfishness on my part."
"Like other men, you imagine that women can't get beyond detail." A flush had come into her voice. "All through the ages men have been learning from women and refusing to acknowledge it."
"In which sphere?"
"In every sphere."