“’Show me a study for Déjanire,’ I say.
“’Oh! I’ll draw Déjanire for you,’ and he takes a soft pencil and a piece of smooth card-board, and in five minutes draws me an outline of a naked woman on a centaur’s back, a creature of touching beauty no other hand in the world could produce—so aristocratically delicately English and of to-day—so severely, so nobly and classically Greek. C’est la chasteté même—mais ce n’est pas Déjanire!
“He gives me this sketch, which I rechristen Godiva, and value as I value few things I possess.
“Then he shows me pencil studies of children’s heads, from nature, and I exclaim:
“’O Heaven, what a dream of childhood! Childhood is never so beautiful as that.’
“’Oh yes it is, in England, I assure you,’ says he. ‘I’ll show you my children presently; and you, hav
