They were the notes of a countryman artist newly come to London.

The sights, and tones, and distances of London streets--the human beings, the vehicles, the horses--were all freshly seen, as though under a glamour.

Cuningham examined them with care.
'Is this the sort of thing you're going to do ?' he said, looking up, and involuntarily his eye glanced towards his own picture on the distant easel.
Fenwick smiled.
'That's only for practice.

I want to do big things--romantic things--if I get the chance.' 'What a delightful subject!' said Cuningham, stooping suddenly over the book.
Fenwick started, made a half-movement as though to reclaim his property, and then withdrew his hand.

Cuningham was looking at a charcoal study of a cottage interior.