“If I felt like an ass I should hold my tongue about it, and take a blue pill. By the way, there’s some contradiction, for Blunt saw Legrun the other day, and he’s tremendously pleased with you.”
“Oh, I took to swatting for a time, as a sop to Cerberus, and worked like the very devil at drawing, but somehow I’d rather get a kick any day, than praise, when I know my work’s dishonest, done to cover filth; it’s an insult to Art.”
“My good boy, don’t be morbid! It was a good sight better to bring your lines into order than to do nothing.”
“All the same, I have no satisfaction in any work done then.”
“Ah, parson’s blood again—no need you should, but you needn’t add it to the list of your sins, that would be rather a work of supererogation, wouldn’t it?”
“I would like to go out into the desert alone for forty days or so, and wrestle with anything that came along, God or the devil.”
“A very proper attitude of mind and befitting your breed. In the meantime, when do you intend returning to Paris?”
“I must go to-morrow.”
“Why must you?”
“Because——” he hesitated, blushing furiously.