He could not have chosen words more flattering to Clytie. They summed up bluntly the whole of her ambitions.
“You see, I like real things,” he went on. “Something I can catch hold of. All this talk of Art with a capital A, and metaphysical preciousness, is so much froth—at any rate to me. But perhaps you put a capital to it?”
“I do, sometimes.”
“Well, then, you will teach me what it means. Will you? It will be a way of teaching me something about yourself.”
“Oh, I am not worth your learning,” replied Clytie, with a laugh. “But you can come and see my pictures, if you like.”
“Thank you,” said Hammerdyke, as he rose in obedience to a beckoning glance from Mr. Farquharson, who was sitting on the other side of the room. “I will come as soon as you will let me. To-morrow, can I?”
He looked at her pleadingly, admiringly. Clytie was suddenly brought in contact with a new force, against which she felt powerless.
“Yes, you can come to-morrow,” she said