“Of course. That’s when I tried to get him to take the money. Cecily—” The girl’s voice shook a little. “You’ll tell him, won’t you, that he must keep on painting?”
“Why? Doesn’t he intend to?”
“He said he’d painted himself out and he didn’t think he’d ever look at color again.”
“He will,” said the Bonnie Lassie wisely and comfortably. “Grief is just as driving a taskmaster as lo—as other emotions.”
“Grief!” The girl’s color ebbed. “Cecily! You don’t think I’ve hurt him?”
The Bonnie Lassie caught her in a sudden hug.
“Bobbie, do you know what I’d do in your place?”
“No. What?”
“I’d go right—straight—back to Julien Tenney’s studio.” She paused impressively.
“Yes?” said the other faintly.