Mr. Jarvis (aside)—Hanged if I don’t think she believes this rot.
Miss Paysley—Please hold up your hands with the first fingers touching. I thought so.
Mr. Jarvis—What?
Miss Paysley (with conviction)—Your best impulses you never follow to the end, either in your life or your work. For instance, I imagine your studio is full of half-finished canvases, the best work you have done, but unfinished. The work you expose, your finished stuff, is what has let itself be finished easily!
Mr. Jarvis (suspiciously)—You guessed that from such of my work as you’ve seen.
Miss Paysley (aside)—That was a dead steal from Millicent! (Aloud, coolly.) I haven’t the pleasure of knowing much of your work, Mr. Jarvis. Please put your right hand under the light. (Aside.) I’d better put him in good temper again. Queer how a man loves a chance of talking uninterruptedly about himself. (Aloud.) You have an exaggerated worship of strength in yourself and others.
Mr. Jarvis—Where do you see that?
Miss Paysley—In the whole character of your hand. (Aside.) Millicent said “strength and the admiration of strength is his keynote.” (Aloud.) You must see for yourself that your hand isn’t a weak one, and see how the lines are cut—as if with a chisel. (Aside.) He’s purring already like a Cheshire cat.
Mr. Jarvis—What do you mean by an exaggerated worship of strength?
Miss Paysley—I mean you underscore strength too much among the other virtues.