suppressed remonstrances.

What Harz did fast he did best; if he had leisure he "saw too much,"
loving his work so passionately that he could never tell exactly when
to stop. He hated to lay things aside, always thinking: "I can get it
better." Greta was finished, but with Christian, try as he would, he was
not satisfied; from day to day her face seemed to him to change, as if
her soul were growing.

There were things too in her eyes that he could neither read nor
reproduce.

Dawney would often stroll out to them after his daily visit, and lying
on the grass, his arms crossed behind his head, and a big cigar between
his lips, would gently banter everybody. Tea came at five o'clock, and
then Mrs. Decie appeared armed with a magazine or novel, for she was
proud of her literary knowledge. The sitting was suspended; Harz, with
a cigarette, would move between the table and the picture, drinking his
tea, putting a touch in here and there; he never sat down till it was
all over for the day. During these "rests" there was talk, usually
ending in discussion. Mrs. Decie was happiest in conversations of a
literary order, making frequent use of such expressions as: "After all,
it produces an illusion--does anything else matter?" "Rather a poseur,
is he not?" "A question, that, of temperament," or "A matter of the
definition of words"; and other charming generalities, which sound
well, and seem to go far, and are pleasingly irrefutable. Sometimes
the discussion turned on Art--on points of colour or technique; whether
realism was quite justified; and should we be pre-Raphaelites? When
these discussions started, Christian's eyes would grow bigger and
clearer, with a sort of shining reasonableness; as though they were