With the girl's soft eyes upon him, Kenny felt that he could not be
expected to read each word of the letter. He never did that anyhow.
He blurred through now with amazing speed, catching enough to gratify
and upset him. The letter, reminiscent of his penitential quest for
Brian, roused voices that he did not want to hear. Nor did he hear
them for long. Joan was holding out the clipping, her slender arm in
its fall of yellowed lace a thing to catch the eye of any Irishman whom
Fate for the good of the world of art had made a painter.

Kenny took the clipping to insure his future peace of mind. Yes, Garry
had displayed better judgment than, in the circumstances, might have
been expected. The article he saw at a glance was an excellent one and
truthful. He particularly liked the phrase "brilliant painter" and
hoped Garry had troubled to read the thing through himself before he
sent it. It might inspire him to quotation in the grill-room.

Nevertheless, Kenny, with the clipping in his hand, had a picturesque
moment of confusion.

"It--it's just the sort of thing we call a 'blurb,' Miss West!" he
protested.

"It says in print," said the girl, her eyes wide and direct, "what your
son wrote in his letter."

The heart of the lad! Kenny had a bad minute. Until with his quest
upon the back of him he remembered Peredur and felt better. Peredur
had gone in quest of the Holy Grail. And he had found fair ladies.