If only one
single picture's a success, it draws attention to all the others. I know some
of my work is good, if only people could see. And you needn't have been so rude
about it."
"I'm sorry. We'll talk the Melancolia over some one of the other Sundays.
There are four more--yes, one, two, three, four--before you go. Goodbye,
Maisie."
Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl returned,
a little white at the corners of her lips.
"Dick's gone off," said Maisie. "Just when I wanted to talk about the picture.
Isn't it selfish of him?"
Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went on
reading The City of Dreadful Night.
Dick was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen as his
confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and when he found
that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his rage, he sought
consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for the use of the
afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his patient service; nor was
he pleased with himself; and it was long before he arrived at the proposition
that the queen could do no wrong.
"It's a losing game," he said. "I'm worth nothing when a whim of hers is in
question.
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