He has taste.' 'Taste!' exclaimed Miss Harris, violently, and from the corners of her mouth I gathered that I had said one of those things which she would store up and produce to prove that I was not, for all my pretensions, a person of the truest feeling.

'He sees things.' 'There's an intensity,' I ventured.
'That's better.

Yes, an intensity.

A perfect passion of colour.

Look at that.' She indicated a patch of hillsides perhaps six inches by four, in which the light seemed to come and go as it does in a sapphire.
We stood and gazed.