Next morning the two painters called upon us. Wilderspin sketched
alone, while Sinfi, Rhona, Cyril, and I went trout-fishing in one of
the numerous brooks.
'What do you think of my friend by this time?' said Cyril to me.
'He is my fifth mystic,' I replied; 'I wonder what the sixth will be
like. Is he really as great a painter as he takes himself to he, or
does his art begin and end with flowery words?'
'I believe,' said Cyril, pointing across to where Wilderspin sat at
work, 'that the strange creature under that white umbrella is the
greatest artistic genius now living. The death of his mother by
starvation has turned his head, poor fellow, but turned it to good
purpose: "Faith and Love" is the greatest modern picture in Europe.
To be sure, he has the advantage of painting from the finest model
ever seen, the lovely, if rather stupid, Miss Gudgeon, of Primrose
Court, whom he monopolises.'
Cyril had already, during the morning, told me that my mother, who
was much out of health, was now staying in London, where he had for
the first time in his life met her at Lord Sleaford's house.
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