"Thank you," said Phillis. "That is a compliment, I am sure. What is the subject of the picture?"
"It is the 'Birth of the Renaissance.' An allegorical picture. There will be two hundred and twenty-three figures in the composition."
"The 'Birth of the Renaissance,'" Phillis mused. "I think I know all about that. 'On the taking of Constantinople in the year 1433, the dispersed Greeks made their way to the kingdoms of the West, carrying with them Byzantine learning and culture. Italy became the chosen home of these exiles. The almost simultaneous invention of printing, coupled with an outburst of genius in painting and poetry, and a new-born thirst for classical knowledge, made up what is known by the name of the Renaissance.' That is what my guardian told me one night. I think that I do not want to see any picture on that subject. Sit down now and draw me a girl's face."
He shook his head.
"Art cannot be forced," he replied.
"Mr. Humphrey,"—her eyes began to twinkle,—"when you have time—I should not like to force your Art, but when you have time—paint me a little group: yourself, Mr. Cornelius, and Cæsar, in the morning walk. You may choose for the moment of illustration either your going into or coming out of the Carnarvon Arms; when you intend to have or when you have had your little whack."
She laughed and ran away.
Humphrey sat upright, and gazed at the door through which she fled. Then he looked round helplessly for his brother, who was not there.
"Little whack!" he murmured. "Where did she learn the phrase? And how does she know that—Cæsar could not have told her."
He was very sad all the evening, and opened his heart to his brother when they sought the Studio at nine, an hour earlier than usual.