mixed up with the shoulder. Put a single stroke here."
Anne obediently squeezed some Brussels brown from a tube and took up her brush.
"Will you come to the studio for a farewell supper before you go?"
"With pleasure," he responded. Then he muttered something under his breath.
"Don't do that. It isn't polite," said Anne.
"If it only weren't for your accursed theory," he groaned, with a sick man's impatience, "we could do our work together, sharing the failure and the success."
"Perhaps it is your philanthropic theory," suggested the girl.
"I'll give it up! I'll give up anything in theory or in practice if you will change your mind."
"Oh no you won't. I shouldn't respect you if you did."
"I didn't quite mean it," he confessed. "Only, most theories are trash when it comes to a question of living."
