Part 64 (1/2)
”Better tempered now, Beryl?”
”You always make out that I have the temper of a fiend. I hate being startled. That's all.”
”You're awfully nervy these days.”
”I think you are the cruellest man I know. If it weren't for your painting no one would have anything to do with you.”
”I shouldn't care.”
”Yes, you would. You love being wors.h.i.+pped and run after.”
”Good soup, isn't it?”
She made no answer to this. After a silence she said:
”Why were you so late?”
”To give you time to study the evening paper.”
”Were you working?”
”No--cursing.”
”Why?”
”This d.a.m.ned portrait's going to be no good either!”
”Then you'd better give it up.”
He shot a piercing glance at her.
”It isn't my way to give things up once I've put my hand to them,” he observed drily. ”And you seem to forget that you put me up to it.”
”That was only a whim. You didn't take it seriously.”
”I do now, though.”
”But if you're baffled?”
”For the moment. I've nearly always found that the best work comes hardest. One has to sweat blood before one reaches the big thing. I may begin on him half a dozen times, cut him to ribbons half a dozen times--and then do a masterpiece.”
”I don't think he'll wait long enough. Another stab of the palette knife and you'll probably see the last of him.”
”Ah--he didn't like it, did he?”
”He was furious.”
”Did he say anything about it afterwards to you?”
”Not a word. But he was furious. You stabbed money!”
Garstin smiled appreciatively. Raoul was pouring out the champagne.