XLIV
But notwithstanding when Miss Price on the following Sunday offered to take him to the Louvre Philip accepted. She showed him Monna Lisa. He looked at it with a slight feeling of disappointment, but he had read till he knew by heart the jewelled words with which Walter Pater has added beauty to the most famous picture in the world; and these now he repeated to Miss Price.
"That's all literature," she said, a little contemptuously. "You must get away from that."
She showed him the Rembrandts, and she said many appropriate things about them. She stood in front of the Disciples at Emmaus.
"When you feel the beauty of that," she said, "you'll know something about painting."
She showed him the Odalisque and La Source of Ingres. Fanny Price was a peremptory guide, she would not let him look at the things he wished, and attempted to force his admiration for all she admired. She was desperately in earnest with her study of art, and when Philip, passing in the Long Gallery a window that looked out on the Tuileries, gay, sunny, and urbane, like a picture by Raffaëlli, exclaimed:
"I say, how jolly! Do let's stop here a minute."
She said, indifferently: "Yes, it's all right. But we've come here to look at pictures."
The autumn air, blithe and vivacious, elated Philip; and when towards mid-day they stood in the great court-yard of the Louvre, he felt inclined to cry like Flanagan: To Hell with art.
"I say, do let's go to one of those restaurants in the Boul' Mich' and have a snack together, shall we?" he suggested.
Miss Price gave him a suspicious look.
"I've got my lunch waiting for me at home," she answered.
"That doesn't matter. You can eat it tomorrow. Do let me stand you a lunch."
"I don't know why you want to."
"It would give me pleasure," he replied, smiling.
They crossed the river, and at the corner of the Boulevard St. Michel there was a restaurant.
"Let's go in there."
