"You saw the Skipper?"
"Yes, leaving."
"Did he speak to you?"
"Not a word."
The clergyman breathed a sigh of relief.
In the evening Uniacke turned his pipe two or three times in his fingers and said, looking down:
"That picture of yours—"
"Yes. What of it?"
"You will paint it in London, I suppose?"
"How can I do that? The imagination of it came to me here, is sustained and quickened by these surroundings."