The painter laughed heartily, but stopped all at once and said, “It’s enough to make any fellow swear though, to hear a--groom talk as you do about art.” “Have I the impudence? I didn’t know it,” said Malcolm, with some dismay. “I seemed to myself merely saying the obvious thing, the common sense, about the picture, on the ground of your own statement of your meaning in it. I am annoyed with myself if I have been talking of things I know nothing about.” “On the contrary, MacPhail, you are so entirely right in what you say, that I cannot for the life of me understand where or how you can have got it.” “Mr Graham used to talk to me about everything.” “Well, but he was only a country schoolmaster.” “A good deal more than that, sir,” said Malcolm, solemnly. “He is a disciple of him that knows everything. And now I think of it, I do believe that what I’ve been saying about your picture, I must have got from hearing him talk about _the_ revelation, in which is included Isis herself, with her brother and all their train.” Lenorme held his peace. Malcolm had taken his place again unconsciously, and the painter was working hard, and looking very thoughtful. Malcolm went again to the picture. “Hillo!” cried Lenorme, looking up and finding no object in the focus of his eyes. Malcolm returned directly. “There was just one thing I wanted to see,” he said, “--whether the youth worshipping his goddess, had come into her presence _clean_.” “And what is your impression of him?” half murmured Lenorme, without lifting his head.