“That’s rather a remarkable young woman I’ve got down there in the orchard,” he said. “Did I tell you that she painted?”
“I believe so—something of the kind,” replied Roget. He had met with his share of disillusionment among his own protégés, and he was not given to more than passing interest in the mere fact that a young woman painted.
“Well,” pursued Osprey, “I’ve got something to show you after dinner.”
When they had finished he led the producer to a picture on the studio wall and switched on a light he had put up to illuminate it.
“That’s one of hers,” he said. “I think there are extraordinarily good things in it as well as bad. At all events, I liked it so well I bought it.”
Roget studied the picture for a moment, but without enthusiasm.
“Yes,” he said. “Obviously you’ve influenced her already, or she’s known your work for some time.”
“I don’t think it’s so obvious,” protested the other. “There’s personal insight in that modelling, and it has a back to it. Anyway, she’s young. Fact is, there’s something really unusual about the girl. I fancy she had things her own way at one time. The marks are there, overlaid by experience since.”
“Of course,” laughed Roget quietly, “it makes a difference if you know the young lady.”
“Hang it, my dear fellow, the girl is poor. Has two children, and a husband who may be talented and may be a fool. But he’s certainly no support.”