“They won't have me,” said he.
“But you send in, don't you?”
“With heart-breaking regularity. They did have me once.” He sighed. “But that was many years ago, when the Academy was young and foolish.”
“I have heard they are exceedingly conservative,” said Norma, with the claws still unsheathed. “Perhaps you work on too original lines.”
But she could draw from him no expression of vanity. He smiled. “I suppose they don't think my pictures good enough,” he said simply.
“Jimmie's work is far too good for that wretched Academy,” said Connie Deering. “The pictures there always give you a headache. Jimmie's never do.”
“I should like to kill the Academy,” Aline broke in sharply, on the brink of tears. A little tragedy of murdered hopes lurked in her tone. Then, seeing that she had caused a startled silence, she reddened and looked at her plate. Jimmie laughed outright.
“Is n't she bloodthirsty? All the seventy of them weltering in their gore! Only the other day she said she would like to slaughter the whole Chinese Empire, because they ate puppies and birds'-nests!”
Connie chimed a frivolous remark in tune with Jimmie. Morland, as befitted a coming statesman, took up the parable of the march westwards of the yellow races. Colonel Pawley, who had been through the Taeping rebellion, was appealed to as an authority on the development of the Chinaman. He almost blushed, wriggled uncomfortably, and as soon as he could brought the conversation to the milder topic of Chinese teacups. Successful, he sighed with relief and told Aline the story of the willow pattern. The Royal Academy was forgotten. But Norma felt guilty and ashamed.
Nor was she set more at ease with herself by a careless remark of Morland's as Connie's front door closed behind them an hour or so later.