But I think you may, if we get on to-day." He was already at work, turning from the texture of the rounded throat which occupied him before she came in, to the more serious problem of the nuances of expression in the face.

It was a whim of his, based partly upon a cautiousness, of which he was hardly aware, that she should not see the portrait in its earlier stages, and she had made a great concession of this.

As it grew before him, out of his consciousness, under his hand, he became more and more aware that he would prefer to postpone her seeing it, for reasons which he would not pause to define.
Certainly they were not connected with any sense of having failed to do justice to his subject.

Kendal felt an exulting mastery over it which was the most intoxicating sensation his work had ever brought him.

He had, as he painted, a silent, brooding triumph in his manipulation, in his control.