gan to
worship it more himself.

And the younger man grew eloquent, expatiated on the old art and the
new, on academies and masters, on realism and symbolism, on plein air
and sunlight, on colour and technique. And as he spoke, he was enchanted
with his own voice. It was splendid to feel himself speaking again after
all this long suppression--he was realising the strength and
infallibility of his own artistic convictions. Never before had he felt
so sure of his conceptions; his former humility had only led to
confusion and hesitation. In future, his own mind should dominate--he
would not be blown about by all these conflicting schools and critics.

He was conscious of standing more vigorously upright; and, as he
enlarged on the picture, he seemed to get a new and sure hold of it,
seeing more and more the potentiality of a great and powerful structure
that no Academy could dare refuse to recognise. He saw now that his long
interval of hibernation had not been unfruitful. And it had made a
necessary sharp division between the two parts of his life--the first,
uncertain, stumbling, unsuccessful; the second, confident, mature,
triumphant.

The picture before him was transformed. Problems that had baffled him
seemed to solve themselves in a flash. Effects he had vainly sought
through maddening months stood at once revealed, flowing naturally out
of what he had already set down. His hand longed to be wielding the
brush again.

"But if I may make the remark," interposed Mr. Robinson at length; "it
seems matter for surprise that a gentleman like you should be attracted
to the choice of such a subject. I should hardly suppose that you have
ever come into any real contact with labour, and workmen on strike would
therefore scarcely come within the sphere of your sympathy."

"The artist is of universal sympathy," said Wyndham gravely, and himself
believed it. At that moment he felt his endless sympathy spreading
itself out, embracing all creation. "And then it was not only the
humanity of the scene that touched me, and inspired me to attempt to put
it down finely and greatly; there was also the pure art part as it
appealed to the trained vision--the splendid difficulties to be
vanquished, the opportunities for draughtsmanship and subtle colour, the
sense of far-stretching space to be produced from only a narrow gamut of
light and shade."

"Marvellous!" echoed Mr. Robinson again.

"But if I may make the remark in my turn,"