The rings at the bell began to multiply at compound interest. Madonna
was hardly still at the window for a moment, so many were the visitors
whose approach up the garden walk it was now necessary for her to
signalize. Down-stairs, all the vacant seats left in the painting room
were filling rapidly; and the ranks of standers in the back places were
getting two-deep already.
There was Lady Brambledown (whose calls at the studio always lasted the
whole morning), sitting in the center, or place of honor, taking snuff
fiercely, talking liberal sentiments in a cracked voice, and apparently
feeling extreme pleasure in making the respectable middle classes stare
at her in reverent amazement. Also, two Royal Academicians--a saturnine
Academician, swaddled in a voluminous cloak; and a benevolent
Academician, with a slovenly umbrella, and a perpetual smile. Also, the
doctor and his wife, who admired the massive frame of "Columbus," but
said not a word about the picture itself. Also, Mr. Bullivant, the
sculptor, and Mr. Hemlock, the journalist, exchanging solemnly that
critical small talk, in which such words as "sensuous," "aesthetic,"
"objective," and "subjective," occupy prominent places, and out of
which no man ever has succeeded, or ever will succeed, in extricating
an idea.
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