He gave her one of his quick glances.
"Some," he replied. "I believe, if I'd been taught, that I could have done something in that line," and he pointed with his saucer towards a water-colour, a drawing of the Golden Gate from Russian Hill.
I hardly knew what to make of this new development. I really did not believe he had looked at it. Moreover the drawing was not clamant with noisy daubs to attract the attention. It was not even recognizable as a view of the Golden Gate. It was a study of colour-combination, in an unusually high key, of interest to artists, but not to the public. Only the cognoscenti had remarked that picture before.
"You like it?" I said, taking it down and handing it to him.
"Ah!" he said, setting his cup and saucer on the floor. "Yes, that's it, that's it." He studied it. "That's what I should have liked to tackle. Sugar-plums, eh?"
We looked at him in astonishment, and he assumed an attitude of apology.
"I beg pardon," he said. "What I meant was it reminded me of old Turner, you know, messing about with coloured sugar-plums."
"A colour-scheme?" said Mac, light dawning in his puzzled face.
"That's it, that's the word: colour-scheme," said Mr. Carville. "I'd forgotten the word." And he handed the drawing back. "You wonder at a seafaring man coming out here to live?"
"It's a very healthy district," I suggested.