"Cold, but nice. I'd like a short walk anyway—I feel almost energetic!"
She came into the room, loosening her furs. She was dressed in black, which she had worn ever since the baby's death, and her face was rather thinner and paler than before, though the frosty air had given her an unusual tinge of colour.
In passing she glanced at the portrait on the easel and stopped in surprise.
"Why, what have you done?" she cried.
Basil wished he could have got the picture out of sight, but said cheerfully:
"Spoilt it. Too bad, isn't it?"
Teresa studied the canvas.
"A fit of temper? Of course, I can't tell very well now, but perhaps you were too quick. Still, you can always take off that blue paint, can't you?"
"No. I was working on the face, and it's all gone. It was bad—the whole scheme of the thing. I felt from the beginning that it wouldn't do. Of course, I'm sorry to have muffed it. But it's a relief not to go on with it, when I see it's a failure."
He spoke volubly, moving about quickly, put- ting away his brushes and palette; and finally he took down the canvas and set it with its face to the wall. Teresa sat down on the divan, and they talked cursorily for some ten minutes. Mrs.
