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"Ah, Captain," said Desborough, "with all our vanity and absurdity, we Irish have got good warm hearts under our waistcoats. We are the first nation in the world, sir, saving the Jews." This was late in the afternoon of a temperate spring day. We were watching Desborough as he was giving the finishing touches to a beautiful watercolour drawing. "Doctor," he said, "come and pass your opinion."
Young Jolyon, whose circumstances were not those of a Forsyte, found at times a difficulty in sparing the money needful for those country jaunts and researches into Nature, without having prosecuted which no watercolour artist ever puts brush to paper.
I cared so much for nothing else, and that vaguely redressed, as to a point, my general failure of acuteness. I nursed the conviction, or at least I tried to, that if my clutch of the pencil or of the watercolour brush should once become intense enough it would make up for other weaknesses of grasp much as that would certainly give it to do.
He came along the terrace again, with pauses during which his eyes rested, as they had already often done, on the brave darker wash of far-away watercolour that represented the most distant of the cathedral towns.
That little volume is among my few treasured possessions to-day. Some of its watercolour sketches look a little worn and pallid, after all these years, but it is a most instructive book; and from it came all my first knowledge of the various wattles, the different mahoganies, the innumerable gums, the ferns, creepers, and wild flowers of the bush. It was almost dark when Ted returned in a cart.
She painted small watercolour landscapes herself, with a delicate economy of means and a graceful Norwich convention; her sketch-books were filled with abbeys gently washed in, river-banks in sepia by which the elect might be dimly reminded of Liber Studiorum, and woodland scenes over which the ghost of Creswick had faintly breathed.
He came along the terrace again, with pauses during which his eyes rested, as they had already often done, on the brave darker wash of far-away watercolour that represented the most distant of the cathedral towns.
The words bore good fruit with young Jolyon; they were contrary to all that he believed in, to all that he theoretically held good in his Art, but some strange, deep instinct moved him against his will to turn them to profit. He discovered therefore one morning that an idea had come to him for making a series of watercolour drawings of London.
The nurseries are along there. And this is Jo's and his wife's. They all communicate. But you remember, I expect." Irene nodded. They passed on, up the gallery and entered a large room with a small bed, and several windows. "This is mine," he said. The walls were covered with the photographs of children and watercolour sketches, and he added doubtfully: "These are Jo's. The view's first-rate.
The study, which was a very agreeable room, overlooked the Close. It was panelled with dark old oak, and lined on one side with books, and opposite the centre window hung Mr. Robey's greatest treasure, a watercolour by Turner of Witanbury Cathedral, painted from the meadows behind the town. To-day Mr. Robey himself was not there, but his brother and Sir John Blake were both waiting for her.
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