"You have spoiled it!" cried Celeste. She had watched the picture grow, and to see it ruthlessly destroyed this way hurt her. "How could you!"
"Worst I ever did." He began to change the whole effect, chuckling audibly as he worked. Sunset divided honors with moonlight. It was no longer incongruous; it was ridiculous. He leaned back and laughed. "I'm going to send it to L'Asino, and call it an afterthought."
"Nonsense! I'm going to touch a match to it. I'll give you that picture with the lavender in bloom."
"Well!" The more he learned about women the farther out of mental reach they seemed to go. Why on earth did she want this execrable daub? "You may have it; but all the same, I'm going to call an oculist and have him examine your eyes."
In preparing studiously to ignore Flora Desimone's presence they had forgotten all about her.
"Good morning, Signora," said Celeste in Italian.
"And the Signore Abbott, the painter, also!" The Calabrian raised what she considered her most deadly weapon, her lorgnette.
Celeste had her fancy-work instantly in her two hands; Abbott's were occupied; Flora's hands were likewise engaged; thus, the insipid mockery of hand-shaking was nicely and excusably avoided.
"It is a new style of the impressionist which I began this morning," soberly.
"Natural!" Abbott dropped his mahl-stick.
"It is Vesuv', is it not, on a cloudy day?"
This was too much for Abbott's gravity, and he laughed.
"It was not necessary to spoil a good picture ... on my account," said Flora, closing the lorgnette with a snap. Her great dark eyes were dreamy and contemplative like a cat's, and, as every one knows, a cat's eye is the most observing of all eyes. It is quite in the order of things, since a cat's attitude toward the world is by need and experience wholly defensive.
"The Signora is wrong. I did not spoil it on her account. It was past helping yesterday. But I shall, however, rechristen it Vesuvius, since it represents an eruption of temper."
Flora tapped the handle of her parasol with the lorgnette. It was distinctly a sign of approval. These Americans were never slow-witted. She swung the parasol to and fro, slowly, like a pendulum.
"It is too bad," she said, her glance roving over the white walls of the villa.
