He could scarcely admire a portrait of a beautiful woman in an art gallery, but that she saw something humorous about it.
'I'm interested in everything that's lovely.'
'Oh, I'm aware of that,' replied Cicely; 'especially if it has any connection with the feminine sex,' she added with a laugh that had a little sharp edge of scorn to it.
'Nonsense. If the shaft of sunlight had picked out a young boy to make the one shining figure in the whole church, I'd have thought the effect just as extraordinary—that is, if he had looked up into it and begun to sing with the same amazing expression. Did you get the little girl's expression?'
'I get yours,' Cicely replied with a sidelong glance and another shrug.
Roger thought best to ignore the persistent gibing.
'She reminded me of some picture or other I've seen,' he went on. 'I can't quite place it. I've been trying. Must be some sort of religious picture, for as she stood there looking up, with that heavenly expression I could almost see a circle of light in the dust-motes just over her head.'
'Really you ought to have been a poet, Roger,' remarked Cicely with a forbearing sigh.
'Well, all poets don't write verses.'
'Or an artist. Then you could paint her.'
