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Updated: May 12, 2025
The right touch just then might have determined his future: he was quite as willing to become a Veritist as to remain a mere Dilettante. Abner tossed his head with a suppressed snort; he felt but little inclined to give encouragement to this manikin, this tidier-up after studio teas, this futile spinner of sophistications. No, the curse of a city boyhood was upon the fellow.
"Let's have some music, before our breasts get too savage," said the girl, starting up. Bond followed with the rest. "I'll stick to my regular field," he said to Clytie, as he thrust his crumpled-up manuscript into his pocket. "Griffins, gorgons, hydras, chimeras dire, but no more cows. I was never meant for a veritist." "Samson is pulling down the temple," observed Clytie.
The Western Art Circuit had been started up by a handful of painters and literary men in "the city"; among them, Abner Joyce, notable veritist; Adrian Bond, aesthete, yet not without praiseworthy leanings toward the naturalistic; Stephen Giles, decorator of the mansions of the great, but still not wholly forgetful of his own rustic origins; and one or two of the professors at the Art Academy.
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