I was not to know." "I see." He picked up a handful of waste and slowly began to clean the brushes, one by one.

Then he drove them deep into a bowl of black soap.
"Shall we dine together here, Rita ?" "If you care to have me." "Yes, I do." He laid aside his palette, rang up the kitchen, gave his order, and slowly returned to where Rita was seated.
Dinner was rather a silent affair.

They touched briefly and formally on Querida and his ripening talent prematurely annihilated; they spoke of men they knew who were to come after him--a long, long way after him.
"I don't know who is to take his place," mused Neville over his claret.
"You." "Not his place, Rita.

He thought so; but that place must remain his." "Perhaps.

But you are carving out your own niche in a higher tier.