"
He has such pleading blue eyes, imploring pathetically, like a baby in
distress, it is quite impossible to resist him--and we started down the
gallery.
Of course, he did not know the difference between a Canaletto and a
Turner, and hardly made a pretence of being interested; in fact, when we
got to the end where the early Italians hang, and I was explaining the
wonderful texture of a Madonna, he said:
"They all look sea-sick and out of shape. Don't you think we might sit in
that comfy window-seat and talk of something else?" Then he told me he
loved pictures, but not this sort.
"I like people to look human, you know, even on canvas," he said. "All
these ladies appear as if they were getting enteric, like people used in
Africa; and I don't like their halos and things; and all the men are old
and bald. But you must not think me a Goth. You will teach me their
points, won't you?--and then I shall love them."
I said I did not care a great deal for them myself, except the color.
"Oh, I am so glad!" he said. "I should like to find we admired the same
things; but no picture could interest me as much as your hair. It is the
loveliest thing I have ever seen, and you do it so beautifully."
That did please me. He has the most engaging ways--Lord Robert--and he is
very well informed, not stupid a bit, or thick, only absolutely simple and
direct.
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