Lunn bobbed his long head with delight.
“I would paint a pure person, if I could find one.”
Tom came up to David, and placed his hand under his chin.
“What about this?” he said.
David was stiff, waiting for the hand to go away.
“How can we be sure he’s pure?” exclaimed Durthal.
“That is true,” Tom stepped away a little. “We must be sure. How can we be sure?... David, give us your credentials. Your proofs. For Lunn’s sake, David. Think of the unhappy fix he is in—painting nothing but wicked creatures! Think what an unselfish service you can perform.”
“——if he is pure,” Durthal insisted.
“Yes. If you are pure,” said Tom.
All three of them smiled. All three of them fell spontaneously to this delicious game of baiting David. The ugliness of life, the folly of hope—these were their themes. They seemed to be baiting not so much David as a Dream in David: a bloom of loveliness in David thinking the world was lovely. This was the unbearable presence in the room, the maddening thing. This they joined hands and minds to blemish and befoul....