"My dear boy," said Jane, "your friends have decided that you need a
wife. You are alone in the world. You have a lovely home. You are in
a fair way to be spoiled by all the silly women who run after you.
Of course we are perfectly aware that your wife must have every
incomparable beauty under the sun united in her own exquisite
person. But each new divinity you see and paint apparently fulfils,
for the time being, this wondrous ideal; and, perhaps, if you wedded
one, instead of painting her, she might continue permanently to
fulfil it."

Garth considered this in silence, his level brows knitted. At last
he said: "Beauty is so much a thing of the surface. I see it, and
admire it. I desire it, and paint it. When I have painted it, I have
made it my own, and somehow I find I have done with it. All the time
I am painting a woman, I am seeking for her soul. I want to express
it on my canvas; and do you know, Miss Champion, I find that a
lovely woman does not always have a lovely soul."

Jane was silent. The last things she wished to discuss were other
women's souls.

"There is just one who seems to me perfect, "continued Garth. "I am
to paint her this autumn. I believe I shall find her soul as
exquisite as her body."

"And she is--?" inquired Jane.

"Lady Brand."

"Flower!" exclaimed Jane. "Are YOU so taken with Flower?"