Brydon looked at him and hesitated, then he said in a half-fearful tone, looking away,
“It is no tribute to my genius, it is that face! I never cried, I have roared and howled, you know, scores of times, but I never cried properly till I saw it; it is the strongest and the most touching woman’s face I ever saw.”
“It is, and you have done infinite justice to it.”
“I had to paint her as she was there, I couldn’t help myself, I shall never again do anything like it.”
“What does Legrun say of it?”
He was silent for a minute.
“Did you think,” he asked at last, angrily, “that I did that for Legrun’s praise or blame? Did I paint her to be torn limb from limb by those old steely eyes?”
“As a matter of fact I did not expect anything half so sensible from you, but this—this,” he added slowly, with a spasm of infinite generosity, “this shall hang in the Academy.”
“If it does,” said the boy, “I shall never touch a brush again.”
“Well, we won’t discuss it now.”