She's worth a few hundreds at any state of the market.' He groped among his canvases.

'She's framed in black.

Is this a black frame that I have my hand on?
There she is.

What do you think of her ?' He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint towards Maisie, and the eyes strained as though they would catch her wonder and surprise.

One thing and one thing only could she do for him.
'Well ?' The voice was fuller and more rounded, because the man knew he was speaking of his best work.