"Not much of weather for your sacred craft, Percivale," I said as he entered. "I suppose, if you were asked to make a sketch to-day, it would be much the same as if a stupid woman were to ask you to take her portrait?" "Not quite so bad as that," said Percivale. "Surely the human face is more than nature." "Nature is never stupid." "The woman might be pretty." "Nature is full of beauty in her worst moods; while the prettier such a woman, the more stupid she would look, and the more irksome you would feel the task; for you could not help making claims upon her which you would never think of making upon Nature." "I daresay you are right. Such stupidity has a good deal to do with moral causes. You do not ever feel that Nature is to blame." "Nature is never ugly. She may be dull, sorrowful, troubled; she may be lost in tears and pallor, but she cannot be ugly. It is only when you rise into animal nature that you find ugliness." "True in the main only; for no lines of absolute division can be drawn in nature. I have seen ugly flowers." "I grant it; but they are exceptional; and none of them are without beauty." "Surely not. The ugliest soul even is not without some beauty. But I grant you that the higher you rise the more is ugliness possible, just because the greater beauty is possible. There is no ugliness to equal in its repulsiveness the ugliness of a beautiful face." A pause followed. "I presume," I said, "you are thinking of returning to London now, there seems so little to be gained by remaining here. When this weather begins to show itself I could wish myself in my own parish; but I am sure the change, even through the winter, will be good for my daughter." "I must be going soon," he answered; "but it would be too bad to take offence at the old lady's first touch of temper. I mean to wait and see whether we shall not have a little bit of St. Martin's summer, as Shakspere calls it; after which, hail London, queen of smoke and--" "And what?" I asked, seeing he hesitated. "'And soap,' I was fancying you would say; for you never will allow the worst of things, Mr. Walton." "No, surely I will not. For one thing, the worst has never been seen by anybody yet. We have no experience to justify it." We were chatting in this loose manner when Walter came to the door to tell me that a messenger had come from Mrs. Stokes. I went down to see him, and found her husband. "My wife be very bad, sir," he said. "I wish you could come and see her." "Does she want to see me?' I asked. "She's been more uncomfortable than ever since you was there last," he said. "But," I repeated, "has she said she would like to see me?" "I can't say it, sir," answered the man. "Then it is you who want me to see her?" "Yes, sir; but I be sure she do want to see you. I know her way, you see, sir. She never would say she wanted anything in her life; she would always leave you to find it out: so I got sharp at that, sir."