murmuring mystery of bird and insect life. She could see them going
forth in the mornings with their painting materials, sitting at their
easels under the tall trees, intent on their work or lying on rugs
spread in the shade, the blue smoke of cigarettes curling and going
out, or later in the evening packing up easels and paint-boxes, and
finding their way out of the forest.

It was Elsie who did most of the talking. Cissy reminded her now and
then of something she had forgotten, and, when they turned into the
Passage des Panoramas, Elsie was deep in an explanation of the folly
of square brush work. Both were converts to open brush work. They had
learnt it from a very clever fellow, an impressionist. All his shadows
were violet. She did not hold with his theory regarding the division
of the tones: at least not yet. Perhaps she would come to it in time.

Mildred liked Elsie's lady in a white dress reading under a
rhododendron tree in full blossom. Cissy had painted a naked woman in
the garden sunshine. Mildred did not think that flesh could be so
violet as that, but there was a dash and go about it that she felt she
would never attain. It seemed to her a miracle, and, in her admiration
for her friend's work, she forgot her own failure. The girls dined at
a Bouillon Duval and afterwards they went to the theatre together.
Next morning they met, all three, in the studio; the model was
interesting, Mildred caught the movement more happily than usual; her
friends' advice had helped her.

But at least two years would have to pass before she would know if she
had the necessary talent to succeed as an artist. For that while she
must endure the drudgery of the studio and the boredom of evenings
alone with Mrs. Fargus. She went out with Elsie and Cissy sometimes,