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Updated: May 7, 2025
I could have painted pictures like Lightmark if I had cared, you know, but I did not care!" "And yet he has great facility," said Rainham tentatively. "He has more," said Oswyn bitterly, "or, at least, he had genius. And he has deliberately chosen to go the wrong way, to be conventional. He can't plead 'invincible ignorance' like the others; he ought to know better.
Those newspaper beggars think very highly of him the critics, y'know, and all that; why, 'pon my soul, I was reading something about him only this morning at the club in the what's-his-name the Outcry. Said he ought to be in the Academy." "Yes," said Mrs. Sylvester sympathetically, "you are quite right to be proud of him, Colonel Lightmark.
He knew very few of them personally; he had been taken there first by Lightmark, when the latter was fresh from Paris, and had been himself more in touch with them. But he had often sat smoking silently a little outside the main group, listening, with a deferential air that sat upon his age somewhat oddly, to their audacious propaganda.
The yard door swung noisily on its hinges, and a light step and voice became audible, and the sound of familiar conference with the dockman. Rainham lifted his head inquiringly, and Oswyn, shrugging his shoulders, left the window and regained his seat, picking up his sketch on the way. "Yes," he said in answer to a more direct inquiry on the other's part, "I think it was Lightmark."
Sylvester. "Do I know the lady, I wonder? Oh! I do believe it's that Mrs. Sylvester." "Yes," said Lightmark. "If you remember, you introduced me to her at the Academy soirée last year. I expect her here this afternoon, with her daughter. I am going to paint Miss Sylvester's portrait." "Ah," said Mrs. Dollond mischievously, "and that accounts for the pastille.
Now Lightmark seemed to assume a more confident attitude, to become more like himself; and he was about to break the chain of silence, which had held him almost voiceless throughout Oswyn's attack, when Rainham again interrupted him. "I am sure you needn't say anything, Dick. We all know Oswyn; he he wasn't serious. Go and catch your train, and forget all about it."
"It was a young lady come after someone, who, she said, had been here lately: a Mr. Dighton or Crichton was the name, I think. It was the dockman she asked." "Nobody comes here of that name that I know of," said Lightmark. "Not to my knowledge," said Bullen. "Curious!" remarked Lightmark gravely. "Very, sir!" said Bullen, with equal gravity.
Besides the Dollonds there were two or three of the Turk Street fraternity; a young sculptor, newly arrived from Rome, with his wife; Dionysus F. Quain, an American interested in petroleum, who had patronized Lightmark also at Rome; and Copal, whose studio was in the same building, and who was manifestly anxious about his Chelsea teacups. Mrs.
Eve shrugged her shoulders defiantly, ironically. "You prevaricate; you won't, you can't be candid! There is only one other man who can tell me the truth you make it necessary, I must go to him." Lightmark clenched his hand viciously upon the handle of the door.
But very soon Lightmark became aware of a certain weight of apprehension, which took from him the power to enjoy these material comforts; unattractive possibilities seemed to hover in the silent darkness, and his more subtile senses were roused, and brought to a state of quivering tension, which was almost insupportable.
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