"My darling, it can't hurt--it doesn't, does it?"
"I'd like to say no, but it does, a little. Not so much
as it would have done a while ago."
"Are you going to accept Miss Bell's souvenir of her
shattered ideal? That's the best thing in the letter
--that's really supreme!" and Kendal, still broadly
mirthful, stretched out his hand to take it again; but
Janet drew it back.
"No," she said, "of course not; that was silly of her.
But a good deal of the rest is true, I'm afraid, Jack."
"It's damnably impudent," he cried, with, sudden anger.
"I suppose she believes it herself, and that's the measure
of its truth. How dare she dogmatize to you about the
art of your work! _She_ to _you_!"
"Oh, it isn't that I care about. It doesn't matter to
me, how little she thinks of my aims and my methods. I'm
quite content to do my work with what artistic conception
I've got without analyzing its quality--I'm thankful
enough to have any. Besides, I'm not sure about the
finality of her opinion--"
"You needn't be!" Kendal interrupted, with scorn.
"But what hurts--like a knife--is that part about my
insincerity. I _haven't_ been honest with her--I haven't!
From the very beginning I've criticised her privately.
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