A Captain Crosby or Cosby, or something. He's in some horse
regiment, the cavalry or something. He's--he's an awful scamp, a
blackleg and all that, but an awfully nice fellow. I met him at
Smith's the other day, and they--they--they were carrying on all the
time under poor little Smith's nose. (_He saunters absently to the
easel and looks at the picture._) The picture--eh? It's--it's
awfully good, you know--an advance on your last.
(_During this speech Denham also goes to the easel._)
Mrs. Denham.
Don't you think so?
Fitzgerald.
Yes, it's an advance, decidedly. What is it, eh? I forget.
Denham.
Brynhild.
Fitzgerald.
Oh, Brynhild! The horse is awfully good, you know--savage and that;
but the woman isn't ugly enough--at least, you haven't quite got the
right kind of ugliness, eh?
Denham.
Unfortunately I meant her to be beautiful.
Mrs. Denham.
(_smiling_) And I gave him some sittings, Mr. Fitzgerald.
Fitzgerald.
(_with a genial laugh_) Did you, now? Well, he tried to improve on
you--that was it. (_With great conviction to Denham._) But--but
surely you're wrong in that. Brynhild was an ugly, passionate woman.
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