He
didn't sneer, you understand, poor Stroud--he just lay there quietly
watching, and on his lips, through the gray beard, I seemed to hear
the question: 'Are you sure you know where you're coming out?'
"If I could have painted that face, with that question on it, I
should have done a great thing. The next greatest thing was to see
that I couldn't--and that grace was given me. But, oh, at that
minute, Rickham, was there anything on earth I wouldn't have given
to have Stroud alive before me, and to hear him say: 'It's not too
late--I'll show you how'?
"It _was_ too late--it would have been, even if he'd been alive. I
packed up my traps, and went down and told Mrs. Stroud. Of course I
didn't tell her _that_--it would have been Greek to her. I simply
said I couldn't paint him, that I was too moved. She rather liked
the idea--she's so romantic! It was that that made her give me the
donkey. But she was terribly upset at not getting the portrait--she
did so want him 'done' by some one showy! At first I was afraid she
wouldn't let me off--and at my wits' end I suggested Grindle.
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