And the moonlight came into Maisie's soul, so that she, usually
reserved, chattered of herself and of the things she took interest in,--of
Kami, wisest of teachers, and of the girls in the studio,--of the Poles, who
will kill themselves with overwork if they are not checked; of the French, who
talk at great length of much more than they will ever accomplish; of the
slovenly English, who toil hopelessly and cannot understand that inclination
does not imply power; of the Americans, whose rasping voices in the hush of a
hot afternoon strain tense-drawn nerves to breaking-point, and whose suppers
lead to indigestion; of tempestuous Russians, neither to hold nor to bind, who
tell the girls ghost-stories till the girls shriek; of stolid Germans, who come
to learn one thing, and, having mastered that much, stolidly go away and copy
pictures for evermore. Dick listened enraptured because it was Maisie who
spoke. He knew the old life.
"It hasn't changed much," he said. "Do they still steal colours at lunch-time?"
"Not steal. Attract is the word. Of course they do. I'm good--I only attract
ultramarine; but there are students who'd attract flake-white."
"I've done it myself. You can't help it when the palettes are hung up.
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