But he thinks Italian painting all stuff, and that so many Madonnas and saints encourage superstition.
But what's the use of talking?
They have to station a policeman beside his picture in the Academy to keep off the crowd.

Hush-sh! He is looking this way.' She turned her head, and Fenwick feared she was lost to him.

He managed to get in another question.

'Are there any other painters here ?' She pointed out the president of the Academy, a sculptor, and an art-critic, at whose name Fenwick curled his lip, full of the natural animosity of the painter to the writer.
'And, of course, you know my neighbour ?' Fenwick looked hastily, and saw a very handsome youth bending forward to answer a question which Lord Findon had addressed to him from across the table; a face in the 'grand style'-- almost the face of a Greek--pure in outline, bronzed by foreign suns, and lit by eyes expressing so strong a force of personality that, but for the sweetness with which it was tempered, the spectator might have been rather repelled than won.

When the young man answered Lord Findon, the voice was, like the face, charged--perhaps over-charged--with meaning and sensibility.
'I took Madame de Pastourelles to see it to-day,' the youth was saying.