“I suppose you know that I came like a fool to your house and was refused admittance.”
“Well trained servants,” said Quixtus, “have a knack of indiscriminate obedience.”
“You might have said something more civil,” she said, taken aback.
“If you will dictate to me a formula of politeness I will repeat it with very great pleasure,” he retorted. “Put a little honey on my tongue and it will wag as mellifluously as that of any hypocrite who wins for himself the adulation of mankind.”
“Mercy’s sake man!” exclaimed Clementina, in her astonishment allowing the smoke to mingle with her words. “Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?”
Their eyes met, and Clementina suddenly screwed up her face and looked at him. She saw in those pale blue eyes something, she could not tell what, but something which had not been in the eyes of the gentle, sweet-souled man she had painted. Her grimace, although familiar through the sittings, somewhat disconcerted him. She made the grim sound that with her represented laughter.
“I was only wondering whether I had got you right after all.”
“Of course, you got him right,” cried Tommy the ingenuous. “It’s one of the rippingest pieces of work you’ve ever done.”
“The Anthropological Society find it quite satisfactory,” said Quixtus stiffly.
“Flattered, I’m sure,” said Clementina.