She too was well aware that hatred of vulgarity constrains many persons who are anything but fools to emphasize their being in odd ways, and it might still--in spite of the impressionist water-colours--be proved that Mr.Marsh had a right to vary from the kindly race of men.

She hoped he was really a person of some account; it delighted her to be with such.

And then she suspected that Madeline Denyer had something more than friendship for Mr.Marsh, and her sympathies were moved.
"What sort of weather did you leave in England ?" Mrs.Denyer inquired, when the artist was seated next to her.
"I came away from London on the third day of absolute darkness," replied Mr.Marsh, genially.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Mrs.Gluck; and at once translated this news for the benefit of Frau Wohlgemuth, who murmured, "Ach!" and shook her head.
"The fog is even yet in my throat," proceeded the artist, to whom most of the guests were listening.

"I can still see nothing but lurid patches of gaslight on a background of solid mephitic fume.

There are fine effects to be caught, there's no denying it; but not every man has the requisite physique for such studies.