I saw that the subject on his easel suggested that of which Wynnie had been
making a sketch at the same time, on the day when Connie first lay on
the top of the opposite cliff. But he was not even looking in the same
direction now.

"Do you mind having your work seen before it is finished?"

"Not in the least, if the spectators will do me the favour to remember that
most processes have to go through a seemingly chaotic stage," he answered.

I was struck with the mode and tone of the remark.

"Here is no common man," I said to myself, and responded to him in
something of a similar style.

"I wish we could always keep that in mind with regard to human beings
themselves, as well as their works," I said aloud.

The painter looked at me, and I looked at him.

"We speak each from the experience of his own profession, I presume," he
said.

"But," I returned, glancing at the little picture in oils upon his easel,
"your work here, though my knowledge of painting is next to nothing--
perhaps I ought to say nothing at all--this picture must have long ago
passed the chaotic stage."

"It is nearly as much finished as I care to make it," he returned. "I