..!"
"Arthur will speak in a light tenor."
"Will his walk be heavy and clumsy?" asked Mrs. Phillips.
"He is an artist," replied Cope.
"Not too much of one, I trust," she returned. "I confess I like
boys best in such parts when they frankly and honestly seem to
be boys. That's half the fun--and nine-tenths of the taste."
"Taste?"
"Yes, taste. Short for good taste. There's a great deal of room
for bad. A thing may be done too thoroughly. Once or twice I've
seen it done that way, by--artists."
Cope, in the half-light, seemed rather unhappy.
"He finds time for--for all this--this technique?" Mrs. Phillips
asked.
"He's very clever," replied Cope, rather unhappy still. "It
does take time, of course. I'm concerned," he added.
"About his other work?"
"Yes." He stepped aside a little into the shadow.
"Come back to your place," said Medora Phillips. "You look
quite spectral."
Cope, with a light sigh, returned to his post on the settle and
to his share in the firelight. Silence fell. From far below were
heard the active waves, moaning themselves to rest. And a featureless
evening moved on slowly.
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