“I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless—unless they do bad work.
Dick, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures generally,—of everything of mine that you’ve seen.”
““Honest, honest, and honest over!”’ quoted Dick from a catchword of long ago. “Tell me what Kami always says.”
Maisie hesitated. “He—he says that there is feeling in them.”
“How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for two years. I know exactly what he says.”
“It isn’t a fib.”
“It’s worse; it’s a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his head on one side,—so,—‘Il y a du sentiment, mais il n’y a pas de parti pris.’” He rolled the r threateningly, as Kami used to do.
“Yes, that is what he says; and I’m beginning to think that he is right.”
“Certainly he is.” Dick admitted that two people in the world could do and say no wrong. Kami was the man.
“And now you say the same thing. It’s so disheartening.”