"For some of them," she goes on, "you merely go 'Um-m-m!' under your
breath, you know, or 'Ah-h-h-h!' to yourself. Then when I give you a
nudge you may exclaim, 'Fine feeling!' or 'Very daring!' or 'Wonderful
technic, wonderful!'"

"Yes; but when must I say which?" says I.

"It doesn't matter in the least," says Marjorie.

"And you think just them few remarks," says I, "will pull me through."

"Enough for an entire exhibit at the National Academy," says she. "And
when you decide which you like best, just point it out to Mr. Bladen."

"Gee!" says I. "Suppose I pick a lemon?"

"Robert won't know the difference," says she, "and it will serve him
right. Besides, poor Brooks needs the encouragement."

"Kind of a dub beginner with no backing is he?" says I.

Marjorie describes him different. Accordin' to her, he's a classy
comer in the art line, with all kinds of talent up his sleeve and Fame
busy just around the corner on a laurel wreath exactly his size. Seems
Brooks was from a good fam'ly that had dropped their bundle somewhere
along the road; so this art racket that he'd taken up as a time killer
he'd had to turn into a steady job. He wa'n't paintin' just to keep
his brushes soft. He was out to win the kale.

Between the lines I gathers enough to guess that before she hooked up