“That seems a funny thing to do, I should have thought it would be more to the point to get up and enjoy it.”
“The way of the humorist is very hard,” said the young man gravely.
He did not seem inclined to work. He looked at his canvas; he was working in colour, and had sketched in the day before the model who was posing. He turned to Philip.
“Have you just come out from England?”
“Yes.”
“How did you find your way to Amitrano’s?”
“It was the only school I knew of.”
“I hope you haven’t come with the idea that you will learn anything here which will be of the smallest use to you.”
“It’s the best school in Paris,” said Miss Price. “It’s the only one where they take art seriously.”
“Should art be taken seriously?” the young man asked; and since Miss Price replied only with a scornful shrug, he added: “But the point is, all schools are bad. They are academical, obviously. Why this is less injurious than most is that the teaching is more incompetent than elsewhere. Because you learn nothing….”