'We are the Edisons of a new communion!'
When Valentia began to paint her companion's portrait, they were
naturally much more together. And they never grew tired of sitting in
the pleasant garden under the trees, while she worked at her canvas and
green shadows fell on the profile of Ferdinand White. They talked of
many things. After a while they became less reserved about their private
concerns. Valentia told Ferdinand about her home in Ohio, and about her
people; and Ferdinand spoke of the country parsonage in which he had
spent his childhood, and the public school, and lastly of Oxford and the
strange, happy days when he had learnt to read Plato and Walter
Pater....
At last Valentia threw aside her brushes and leant back with a sigh.
'It is finished!'
Ferdinand rose and stretched himself, and went to look at his portrait.
He stood before it for a while, and then he placed his hand on
Valentia's shoulder.
'You are a genius, Miss Stewart.'
She looked up at him.
'Ah, Mr White, I was inspired by you. It is more your work than mine.'