When he had welcomed his
visitor, Kite pointed to the bottle.
"I got used to it in Paris," he said, "and it helps me to work. I
shan't offer you any, or you might be made ill; the cheapest claret
on the market, but it reminds me of--of things."
There rose in Otway's mind a suspicion that, to-day at all events,
Kite had found his cheap claret rather too seductive. His face had
an unwonted warmth of colour, and his speech an unusual fluency.
Presently he opened a portfolio and showed some of the work he had
done in Paris: drawings in pen-and-ink, and the published
reproductions of others; these latter, he declared, were much spoilt
in the process work. The motive was always a nude female figure, of
great beauty; the same face, with much variety of expression; for
background all manner of fantastic scenes, or rather glimpses and
suggestions of a poet's dreamland.
"You see what I mean?" said Kite. "It's simply Woman, as a beautiful
thing, as a--a--oh, I can't get it into words. An ideal, you
know--something to live for. Put her in a room--it becomes a
different thing. Do you feel my meaning? English people wouldn't
have these, you know. They don't understand. They call it
sensuality."
"Sensuality!" cried Piers, after dreaming for a moment. "Great
heavens! then why are human bodies made beautiful?"
The artist gave a strange laugh of gratification.
"There you hit it! Why--why? The work of the Devil, they say.
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