But you have n't come to see me--the celebrated artist.
Artists are very sensitive, you know; they notice those things."
And Felix turned round, smiling, with a brush in his mouth.
Mr. Brand stood there with a certain blank, candid majesty, pulling together the large flaps of his umbrella. "Why should I come to see you?" he asked.
"I know nothing of Art."
"It would sound very conceited, I suppose," said Felix, "if I were to say that it would be a good little chance for you to learn something.
You would ask me why you should learn; and I should have no answer to that.
I suppose a minister has no need for Art, eh?"
"He has need for good temper, sir," said Mr. Brand, with decision.
Felix jumped up, with his palette on his thumb and a movement of the liveliest deprecation. "That 's because I keep you standing there while I splash my red paint! I beg a thousand pardons!
You see what bad manners Art gives a man; and how right you are to let it alone. I did n't mean you should stand, either.
The piazza, as you see, is ornamented with rustic chairs; though indeed I ought to warn you that they have nails in the wrong places. I was just making a note of that sunset.
I never saw such a blaze of different reds. It looks as if the Celestial City were in flames, eh? If that were really the case I suppose it would be the business of you theologians to put out the fire. Fancy me--an ungodly artist--quietly sitting down to paint it!"
Mr. Brand had always credited Felix Young with a certain impudence, but it appeared to him that on this occasion his impudence was so great as to make a special explanation--or even an apology--necessary.
And the impression, it must be added, was sufficiently natural.