‘It’s a magnificent country for painting,’ he said. ‘But not for pictures,’ I rejoined. He paid no attention, staring at the ground and twisting one end of his moustache. ‘The sun on those old marble tombs--broad sun and sand--’ ‘You mean somewhere about Delhi.’ ‘I couldn’t get anywhere near it.’ He was not at that moment anywhere near me. ‘But I have thought out a trick or two--I mean to have another go when it cools off again down there.’ He returned with a smile, and I saw how delicate his face was. The smile turned down with a little gentle mockery in its lines. I had seen that particular smile only on the faces of one or two beautiful women. It had a borrowed air upon a man, like a tiara or an earring. ‘There’s plenty to paint,’ he said, looking at me with an air of friendly speculation. ‘Indeed, yes. And it has never been done. We are sure it has never been done.’ ‘“We”--you mean people generally?’ ‘Not at all. I mean Miss Harris, Miss Harris and myself.’ ‘Your daughter?’ ‘My name is Philips,’ I reminded him pleasantly, remembering that the intelligence of clever people is often limited to a single art. ‘Miss Harris is the daughter of Mr. Edward Harris, Secretary of the Government of India in the Legislative Department. She is fond of pictures. We have a good many tastes in common. We have always suspected that India had never been painted, and when we saw your things at the Town Hall we knew it.’ His queer eyes dilated, and he blushed. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it’s only one interpretation. It all depends on what a fellow sees. No fellow can see everything.’ ‘Till you came,’ I insisted, ‘nobody had seen anything.’ He shook his head, but I could read in his face that this was not news to him. ‘That is mainly what I came up to tell you,’ I continued, ‘to beg that you will go on and on. To hope that you will stay a long time and do a great deal. It is such an extraordinary chance that any one should turn up who can say what the country really means.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets with a restive movement. ‘Oh, don’t make me feel responsible,’ he said, ‘I hate that;’ and then suddenly he remembered his manners. ‘But it’s certainly nice of you to think so,’ he added.