He knotted his hands, trying to reduce his imagination to words. “It’s the women who aren’t like you, Dearie--the women who love themselves. They feed among lilies; the soul of love is in ’em, but they won’t let it out They’re gardens enclosed, fountains sealed, springs shut up. Now are you getting there? The symbolism of it caught me. There I have her, just as she is in her bang-up modern dress, feeding among the lilies of an Eastern garden. Everything’s heavy with fragrance, beautiful and lonely; the hot sun’s shining and nothing stirs. The windows of the harem are trellised and shut. From under clouds the north and south wind are staring and puffing their cheeks as though they’d burst. Through a locked gate in the garden you get a glimpse of an oriental street with the dust scurrying; but in my sister’s garden the air hangs listless. The fountain is dry; the well is boarded over. And here’s the last touch: halting in the street, peering in through the bars of the gate is the figure of Love. The woman doesn’t see him, though he’s whispering and beckoning. Love’s got to be stark naked; that’s how he always comes. Because he’s naked he looks the same in all ages. D’you get the contrast between Love and the girl’s modern dress? There’s where I’ll need you, Teddy.” Teddy blushed. He spoke woefully. “But--but I’m not going to undress before her.” For answer his father laughed. “But can’t I have any clothes at all--not even my shirt?” “Not even your shirt. She won’t see you, old man; in the picture she’s looking in the other direction. And as for the real live lady, we’ll paint you when she’s not on hand.” “It’s roo-ude,” Teddy stammered. “Besides, it’s silly. Nobody eats lilies; they’re for Easter and funerals, and they’re too expensive. And--and can’t I wear just my trousers?” His father frowned in mock displeasure. “For a boy of ideas and the son of an artist you’re surprisingly modest. Now if you were Jane I could understand it. Love would always put on trousers when he went to visit her. But you’re Dearie’s son. I’m disappointed in you, Teddy; you really ought to know more about love.” “But I do know about love.” Teddy screwed up his mouth. “I’ve learnt from Harriet.” “And who’s Harriet?” “A kind of princess.” “Pooh!” His father turned to Dearie. “What d’you think of ‘_A Garden Enclosed Is My Sister’_?” Dearie kissed his hand. “Splendid! But does the lady expect to be painted like that?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not telling her.” The violet eyes met his. “Dear old glorious Impractical. Perhaps she’s like Jane and’ll want her love in trousers.” Jimmie wagged his head from side to side in negation. “If I’m any judge of character, she isn’t easily shocked.” He rose and stood staring out of the window. His shadow blotted out the bar of sunlight and lay across her breast He turned. “This light’s too good to lose. I must get back to my work.”