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"
Yes
.
I
can
get
my
models
here
just
as
well
as
in
Rome
.
"
"
Don
’
t
you
think
it
’
s
very
beautiful
?
"
said
Mrs
.
Stroeve
.
"
This
foolish
wife
of
mine
thinks
I
’
m
a
great
artist
,
"
said
he
.
His
apologetic
laugh
did
not
disguise
the
pleasure
that
he
felt
.
His
eyes
lingered
on
his
picture
.
It
was
strange
that
his
critical
sense
,
so
accurate
and
unconventional
when
he
dealt
with
the
work
of
others
,
should
be
satisfied
in
himself
with
what
was
hackneyed
and
vulgar
beyond
belief
.
"
Show
him
some
more
of
your
pictures
,
"
she
said
.
"
Shall
I
?
"
Though
he
had
suffered
so
much
from
the
ridicule
of
his
friends
,
Dirk
Stroeve
,
eager
for
praise
and
naively
self
-
satisfied
,
could
never
resist
displaying
his
work
.
He
brought
out
a
picture
of
two
curly
-
headed
Italian
urchins
playing
marbles
.
"
Aren
’
t
they
sweet
?
"
said
Mrs
.
Stroeve
.
And
then
he
showed
me
more
.
I
discovered
that
in
Paris
he
had
been
painting
just
the
same
stale
,
obviously
picturesque
things
that
he
had
painted
for
years
in
Rome
.
It
was
all
false
,
insincere
,
shoddy
;
and
yet
no
one
was
more
honest
,
sincere
,
and
frank
than
Dirk
Stroeve
.
Who
could
resolve
the
contradiction
?
I
do
not
know
what
put
it
into
my
head
to
ask
:
