I found a dreadfully large number of pictures, matched by
a dreadfully large number of people to look at them. It is not
possible for me to write about what I saw: there was too much
of it. Besides, the show disappointed me. I would rather write
about a disagreement (oh, dear, another dispute!) I had with
Mrs. Staveley. The cause of it was a famous artist; not himself,
but his works. He exhibited four pictures--what they call figure
subjects. Mrs. Staveley had a pencil. At every one of the great
man's four pictures, she made a big mark of admiration on her
catalogue. At the fourth one, she spoke to me: "Perfectly
beautiful, Eunice, isn't it?"

I said I didn't know. She said: "You strange girl, what do you
mean by that?"

It would have been rude not to have given the best answer I could
find. I said: "I never saw the flesh of any person's face like
the flesh in the faces which that man paints. He reminds me of
wax-work. Why does he paint the same waxy flesh in all four of
his pictures? I don't see the same colored flesh in all the faces
about us." Mrs. Staveley held up her hand, by way of stopping me.
She said: "Don't speak so loud, Eunice; you are only exposing
your own ignorance."

A voice behind us joined in. The voice said: "Excuse me, Mrs.
Staveley, if I expose _my_ ignorance. I entirely agree with
the young lady."

I felt grateful to the person who took my part, just when I was