“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 Raffaelli, 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.”

“No, I won’t go there, it looks too expensive.”

She walked on firmly, and Philip was obliged to follow.  A few steps brought them to a smaller restaurant, where a dozen people were already lunching on the pavement under an awning; on the window was announced in large white letters:  Dejeuner 1.25, vin compris.

“We couldn’t have anything cheaper than this, and it looks quite all right.”

They sat down at a vacant table and waited for the omelette which was the first article on the bill of fare.  Philip gazed with delight upon the passers-by.  His heart went out to them.  He was tired but very happy.

“I say, look at that man in the blouse.  Isn’t he ripping!”

He glanced at Miss Price, and to his astonishment saw that she was looking down at her plate, regardless of the passing spectacle, and two heavy tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“What on earth’s the matter?” he exclaimed.

“If you say anything to me I shall get up and go at once,” she answered.