I also hear things--and I know it is an unworthy jealousy that--" "What have you heard ?" he interrupted.
"Absurdities.

I don't wish even to think of them--" "I wish you to.Please.Such things are sometimes significant." "But--is there any significance in what a few envious artists say--or a few silly models--" "More significance in what they say than in a whole chorus of professional critics." "Are you serious ?" she asked, astonished.
"Perfectly.

Without naming anybody or betraying any confidence, what have you heard in criticism of my work?
It's from models and brother painters that the real truth comes--usually distorted, half told, maliciously hinted sometimes--but usually the germ of truth is to be found in what they say, however they may choose to say it." Valerie leaned back against the door, hands clasped behind her, eyebrows bent slightly inward in an unwilling effort to remember.
Finally she said impatiently: "They don't know what they're talking about.

They all say, substantially, the same thing--" "What is that thing ?" "Why--oh, it's too silly to repeat--but they say there is nothing lovable about your work--that it's inhumanly and coldly perfect--too--too--" she flushed and laughed uncertainly--"'too damn omniscient' is what one celebrated man said.

And I could have boxed his large, thin, celebrated ears for him!" "Go on," he nodded; "what else do they say ?" "Nothing.