Milly, who had expected that in a year or so he would
become an accomplished painter, was disturbed. She found the oils he was
doing,--the picture of her beside the baby's bassinet on the terrace,
for instance,--disappointing. It was distinctly less understandable and
amusing than his pen-and-ink work had been, and she felt a certain
relief when he did some comic sketches of the Brittany nurses to send to
a magazine. His hand had not lost the old cunning, if it had not gained
the new. Was it possible that her husband was not born to be a great
painter?... "I don't know about such things," she murmured into the
baby's ear. "Jack must decide for himself what's best."

She found it very convenient to have a husband to take upon himself
decision and responsibility, the two most annoying things in life.

VII

BESIDE THE RESOUNDING SEA

After much of the usual futile discussion they decided upon Klerac, a
little place on the coast of Brittany, which certain artists whom
Bragdon knew recommended. One American landscapist of established
reputation painted in that region, and around him had gathered a number
of his countrymen, in the hope of acquiring if not his skill at least
some of his commercial talent for self-exploitation.

So the end of June found them settled comfortably enough in the Hotel du
Passage just across the bay from Douarnenez, where the great one had his
studio. Milly, who usually had some difficulty in adjusting herself to a
new situation and missed the freedoms of her own house, took to Klerac
after the first few days of strangeness. The tiny village and the sleepy
country were utterly unlike anything she had ever seen or dreamed of
before. Green branches of broad chestnut trees overhung the dark water
of the little bay, and a sea of the deepest purple lay out beyond the
headland and boomed against the sand-dunes. The bay and the brilliant
sea were perpetually alive with the fishing craft, which were
picturesquely adorned with colored sails. And inland, only a few steps
from all this vivid coloring of the sea, green lanes meandered between
lofty hedges of thick blackberry vines. Always, even among the remoter
fields, there was the muffled murmur of the sea on the sand and the tang
of salt in the air. The queer, dark little people of the place still
wore about their daily tasks their picturesque costumes, and spoke
little French. One met them as in an opera, gathering kelp on the beach,
driving t