She glanced at him as though startled.
“In a way. But I can’t quite make up my mind.”
“May I see?”
She passed him the block and watched his face as he examined the work. Once or twice he glanced at Guinevere. Then he stood up, and putting the painting on the chair, looked at it from a little distance.
“Excellent.”
She flushed.
“Do you think so?”
“I have never seen a better flower picture.”
“It is such a subtle study in colours that I could not be sure.”
“You must be very self-critical.”