And thereupon the Artist turned to Mr. Dobbles and murmured, "What did I tell you?" And Mr. Dobbles murmured back, "Ah!--what did you tell me?" not as a question, but as a confirmation. "What I've been thinking all along!" said Mr. Aiken. Then all three gave confirmatory nods, and said that was it, you might rely on it. Diana was too forward. Had Actæon been able to talk, he might have protested against this. For see what a difference the absence of the opposite characteristic would have made to Actæon! Conversation then turned on the steps to be taken to get this forward Goddess into her place again, Mr. Tick, who appeared to be an authority, dwelt almost passionately on the minuteness of the change required. "When I talk of puttin' down," said he, "you mustn't imagine I'm referrin' to any _perceptible_ alteration. You change the tone of that flesh, and you'll ruin the picture!" His hearers chorused their approbation, in such terms as "Right you are, Tick, my boy!"--"That's the way to put it!"--"Bully for you, old cocky-wax!" and so on. Mr. Tick seemed pleased, and elaborated his position. "Strictly speakin'," said he, "what is needed is an absolutely imperceptible lowerin' of the tone. Don't you run away with the idea that you can paint on a bit of work like that, to do it any good. You try it on, and you'll come a cropper." This was agreed to with acclamations, and a running commentary of "Caution's the thing!"--"You stick to Caution!"--and so on. The orator proceeded, "Now, I never give advice, on principle. But if I was to do so in this case, and you were to do as I told you, you would just take the _smallest possible_ quantity--the least, _least_, LEAST touch--no more!--of..." But Mr. Tick had all but curled up over the intensity of his superlatives, and he had to come uncurled. "What of?" said Mr. Aiken. And said Mr. Dobbles, not to be quite out of it, "Ah!--what of?" Because a good deal turned on that. Mr. Tick had a paroxysm of decision. He seized Mr. Aiken's velveteen sleeve, and held him at arm's length. "Look here, Crocky!" said he. "Got any Transparent Oxide of Chromium?" "Yes--somewhere!" "Well, now--just you do as I tell you. Got a clean number twelve sable? ... No?--well, number eleven, then ... That'll do!--dip it in Benzine Collas and give it a rinse out. See? Then you give it a rub in your Transparent Oxide, and wipe it clean with a rag. What's left will go all over Diana, and a little to spare..." "Won't she look green?" Mr. Aiken seemed reluctant. "Rather! But you do as I say, young feller, and ask no questions.... 'What are you to do next?'--why, take an absoli-y_oo_tly white bit of old rag and wipe her quite clean from head to foot." His audience suggesting here that no change would be visible, he added, "That's the idear. Don't you change the colour on any account. But you'll see! Diana--she'll have gone back!"