"Oh, yes," said Walter, "I always make a point of knowing as much as possible what has been said and written about the places I visit."
"When shall we see your proposed studio, Philip?" asked Jenny, suddenly changing the conversation into a fresh channel.
"Oh, in a day or two, Mrs. Milbanke," said Philip. "I have been too much absorbed in the beauties of Venice to think of it at present, but next week we will look the place up. My friend is away, but the keys are at my disposal."
"You will want models, of course?" said Jenny.
"Yes," said Philip, "and I hear they are plentiful. But Dolly is to be my first sitter. I think she will be quite as Venetian as the ladies in Mr. Fildes' pictures."
"Oh, do you think so?" said Jenny. "You do not like Mr. Fildes' Venetian studies?"
"Indeed I do," Philip replied. "They are pictures to live with; might have perhaps a little more of the dreamy pathetic atmosphere of the Ocean City in them, but there is all its spirit of beauty and color, I fancy. It is very difficult to criticize pictures of Venice. It seems to me almost a desperate thing to attempt them; and yet I should think the highest inspiration that can come to the painter should be found here."
Philip talked fairly well when he took up his cue, but it was painfully apparent both to Walter and his wife that Dolly took little or no interest in the conversation.
"What is the matter, Dolly?" asked Walter.
"The matter," she said, turning her gaze from the open window to the questioner. "Nothing is the matter. I suppose I feel as Philip felt last night on the Grand Canal, that there are scenes in the world so beautiful and surprising that they are apt to make one silent rather than talkative."
