'Do you know,' said my mother in an undertone, 'that this strange genius can only, when in London, work to the sound of a blacksmith's anvil? Nothing will induce him to paint a portrait out of his own studio; and I observed, when I was sitting to him here, that sometimes when the noise from the anvil ceased he laid down his brush and waited for the hideous din to be resumed. Wilderspin now came through the folding-doors, and greeted us in his usual simple, courteous way. But I saw that he was in trouble. 'The portrait will look better yet,' he said. 'I always leave the final glazing till the picture is in the frame.' After we had thoroughly examined the portrait, we turned to look at a large canvas upon an easel. Wilderspin had evidently been working upon it very lately. 'That's "Ruth and Boaz," don't you know?' said Sleaford. 'Finest crop of barley I ever saw in my life, judgin' from the size of the sheaves. Barley paid better than wheat last year. So the farmers all say.' 'Don't look at it,' said Wilderspin. 'I have been taking out part of Ruth, and was just beginning to repaint her from the shoulders upwards. It will never be finished now,' he continued with a sigh. We asked him to allow us to see 'Faith and Love.' 'It is in the next room,' said he, 'but the predella is here on the next easel. I have removed it from underneath the picture to work upon.' 'The head of Ruth has been taken out,' said my mother, turning to me: 'but isn't it like an old master? You ought to see the marvellous Pre-Raphaelite pictures at Mr. Graham's and Mr. Leyland's, Henry.' 'Pre-Raphaelites?' said Wilderspin, 'the Master rhymes, madam, and Burne-Jones actually _reads_ the rhymes! However, they are on the right track in art, though neither has the slightest intercourse with the spirit world, not the slightest.' 'My exploits as a painter have not been noticeable as yet,' I said; 'but an amateur may know what a barley-field is. That is one before us. He may know what a man in love is; Boaz there is in love.' 'I wish we could see the woman's face,' said Sleaford. 'A woman, you know, without a face--'