The artist did not move from his position.
“Ah, it is the honorable whim of the artist, ladies,” said the little Countess Matsuka.
“Sir Artist, you are most cruel to the kind,” chided a roguish young lady, who leaned against the Duchess Aoi.
“Yes, indeed,” added another, “to permit a whim—an artist’s foolish whim—to prevent our enjoyment of her Highness’s picture.”
“Confess,” said Lady Fuji-no, who hitherto had remained quietly in the background, “that this is not the whim of an artist, but of—”
“The portrait is unfinished,” repeated the artist, raising his voice.
“Shaka! You have been most painstaking, Sir Artist. The statue of the Prince Komatzu was completed in just half the space of time.” It was the Duchess Aoi who spoke. To her the artist turned.
“Lady, bid me not again repeat, the portrait is unfinished,” he said with a low, graceful bow.
Lady Fuji burst into merry laughter.
“Artist,” she said, “the foreigners whom we emulate in some things declare that all women, royal or otherwise, have the prerogative to command, to insist.”