And the agreeable softness of his voice altered, giving way to an almost rasping quality of sound. He put down his glass and got up, with a lithe and swift movement that seemed somehow menacing. It was so light, so agile, so noiseless and controlled.
“Surely you have. Please, look at all these!”
He made a sweeping circular movement with his arm. Sir Seymour got on his feet.
“Do you not see? There is the same thing in all. We are all placed by Mr. Dick Garstin in the same boat. Even the judge, he is there too. Look!”
Sir Seymour looked from canvas to canvas and then at Arabian.
“Well?” said Arabian, still in the rasping voice. “Do I say true? Are we not all turned into canaille by Dick Garstin?”
Sir Seymour did not answer.
“With you if you are painted,” continued Arabian, “it will be the same. Dick Garstin must see bad in us all.”
He laughed and his laugh was oddly shrill and ugly.
“It is an idee fixe,” he said. “You see, I am frank. I say what I think, Dick Garstin.”