"Yes, it was," rejoined the painter, who was gradually sinking into his
own narrative, dropping down in the soft realm of old thoughts revived.
"It was curious, and to me, highly romantic. I sometimes thought it was
like seeking for a hidden sea far inland, watching for the white face of
a little wave in the hard and iron city thoroughfares. Sometimes I
stopped near Victoria Station, put my foot upon a block, and had a boot
half ruined while I watched the bootblack. Sometimes I bought a variety
of evening papers from a ragged gnome who might be a wonder-child, and
made mistakes over the payment to prolong the interview. I leaned
against gaunt houses and saw the dancing waifs yield their poor lives to
ugly, hag-ridden music. I endured the wailing hymns of voiceless women
on winter days in order that I might observe the wretched ragamuffins
squalling round their knees the praise of a Creator who had denied them
everything. Ah! forgive me!"

"For some purpose that we shall all know at last," said Uniacke gently.

"Possibly. In all these prospectings I was unlucky. By chance at length
I found the wonder-child when I was not seeking him."

"How was that?"

"One day the weather, which had been cold, changed and became warm,
springlike, and alive with showers. When it was not raining, you felt
the rain was watching you from hidden places. You smelt it in the air.
The atmosphere was very sweet and depressing, and London was full of
faint undercurrents of romance, and of soft and rapidly changing effects
of light. I went out in the afternoon and spent an hour in the National
Gallery. When I came out my mind was so full of painted canvas that I
never looked at the unpainted sky, or at the vaporous Square through
which streamed the World, opening and shutting umbrellas. I believe I
was thinking over some new work of my own, arranged for the future. Now
the rain ceased, I went down the steps and walked across the road into
the stone garden of the lions. Round their feet played pigmy children. I
heard their cries mingling with the splash of the fountains, but I took
no notice of them. Sitting down on a bench, I went on planning a
picture--the legendary masterpiece, no doubt. I was certainly very deep
in thought and lost to my surroundings, for when a hand suddenly grasped
my knee I was startled. I looked up. In front of me stood a very dirty
and atrociously-dressed boy, whose head was decorated with a tall, muddy
paper cap, funne