“Yes.”
“It was provoking. I’m afraid I have failed.”
“No. That is Latimer. It was just what I saw and felt myself, though I could not have put it into colour. Show me the others again.”
Mrs. Carfax knitted, and Eve put up sketch after sketch, watching Canterton’s face.
“Now, I like that one, dear.”
“Do you, mother?”
“Yes, but why have you made all the poplar trees black?”
“They are not poplars, mother, but cypresses.”
“Oh, I see, cypresses, the trees they grow in cemeteries.”
Canterton began to talk to Eve.