She arranged her veil and looked round for her motor.
“You don’t know his work, do you?”
The fresh air of the street was refreshing after the enervating atmosphere of the studio.
“I saw some of his pictures the other day at a show. It’s clever work.”
“Not more than that?” Her tone implied that his praise was too tepid.
“Does it quite satisfy you?”
She was feeling vaguely irritated at the encounter. Why did he make her feel uncomfortable, and why did he belittle Frank’s work? He was usually generous in his praise. Had he any suspicion with regard to their friendship? She answered untruthfully, with a touch of defiance:
“Yes, I think it quite satisfies me.”
“Well, you’re a good judge. Perhaps I’ve lost my taste for pictures in the Argentine. Big spaces are apt to make you rather intolerant of some so-called ‘artistic’ achievements. Genius always stands out, but talent somehow gets awfully dwarfed. Don’t you know what I mean?”