‘That’s obvious,’ said Fleur.
‘I state the obvious. The only real novelties now are platitudes. That’s why my work is important and seems new. People have got so far away from the obvious that the obvious startles them, and nothing else does. I advise you to think that over.’
‘I’m sure there’s a lot in it,’ said Fleur.
‘Of course,’ said the Rafaelite, ‘a platitude has to be stated with force and clarity. If you can’t do that, you’d better go on slopping around and playing parlour tricks like the Ga-gaists. They’re a pathetic lot, trying to prove that cocktails are a better drink than old brandy. I met a man last night who told me he’d spent four years writing twenty-two lines of poetry that nobody can understand. How’s that for pathos? But it’ll make him quite a reputation, till somebody writes twenty-three lines in five years still more unintelligible. Hold your head up…. Your cousin’s a silent beggar.’
‘Silence is quite a quality,’ said Fleur.
The Rafaelite grinned. ‘I suppose you think I haven’t got it. But you’re wrong, madam. Not long ago I went a fortnight without opening my lips except to eat and say yes or no. She got quite worried.’
‘I don’t think you’re very nice to her,’ said Fleur.
‘No, I’m not. She’s after my soul. That’s the worst of women – saving your presence – they’re not content with their own.’
‘Perhaps they haven’t any,’ said Fleur.
‘The Mohammedan view – well, there’s certainly something in it. A woman’s always after the soul of a man, a child, or a dog. Men are content with wanting bodies.’
‘I’m more interested in your platitudinal theory, Mr Blade.’
‘Can’t afford to be interested in the other? Eh! Strikes home? Turn your shoulder a bit, will you? No, to the left…. Well, it’s a platitude that a woman always wants some other soul – only people have forgotten it. Look at the Sistine Madonna! The baby has a soul of its own, and the Madonna’s floating on the soul of the baby. That’s what makes it a great picture, apart from the line and colour. It states a great platitude; but nobody sees it now. None of the cognoscenti, anyway – they’re too far gone.’
‘What platitude are you going to state in your picture of me?’
‘Don’t you worry,’ said the Rafaelite. ‘There’ll be one all right when it’s finished, though I shan’t know what it is while I’m at it. Character will out, you know. Like a rest?’
‘Enormously. What platitude did you express in the portrait of my cousin’s wife?’
‘Coo Lummy!’ said the Rafaelite. ‘Some catechism!’
‘You surely didn’t fail with that picture? Wasn’t it platitudinous?’
‘It got her all right. She’s not a proper American.’
‘How?’
‘Throws back to something – Irish, perhaps, or Breton. There’s nymph in her.’
‘She was brought up in the backwoods, I believe,’ said Fleur acidly.
The Rafaelite eyed her.
‘You don’t like the lady?’
‘Certainly I do, but haven’t you noticed that picturesque people are generally tame? And my cousin – what’s his platitude to be?’
‘Conscience,’ said the Rafaelite; ‘that young man will go far on the straight and narrow. He worries.’
A sharp movement shook all Fleur’s silver bells.
‘What a dreadful prophecy! Shall I stand again?’
Chapter Four
TALK IN A CAR
FOR yet one more day Fleur possessed her soul; then, at the morning’s sitting, accidentally left her vanity bag behind her, in the studio. She called for it the same afternoon. Jon had not gone. Just out of the sitter’s chair, he was stretching himself and yawning.
‘Go on, Jon! Every morning I wish I had your mouth. Mr Blade, I left my bag; it’s got my cheque-book in it, and I shall want it down at Dorking tonight. By the way, I shall be half an hour late for my sitting tomorrow, I’m afraid. Did you know I was your fellow victim, Jon? We’ve been playing “Box and Cox”. How are you? I hear Anne’s got a cold. Give her my sympathy. Is the picture going well? Might I have a peep, Mr Blade, and see how the platitude is coming out? Oh! It’s going to be splendid! I can quite see the line.’
‘Can you?’ said the Rafaelite. ‘I can’t.’
‘Here’s my wretched bag! If you’ve finished, Jon, I could run you out as far as Dorking; you’d catch an earlier train. Do come and cheer me on my way. Haven’t seen you for such ages!’