Village books

The room was full when Arthur Burdon entered, but Margaret had kept him
an empty seat between herself and Miss Boyd. Everyone was speaking at
once, in French, at the top of his voice, and a furious argument was
proceeding on the merit of the later Impressionists. Arthur sat down, and
was hurriedly introduced to a lanky youth, who sat on the other side of
Margaret. He was very tall, very thin, very fair. He wore a very high
collar and very long hair, and held himself like an exhausted lily.
'He always reminds me of an Aubrey Beardsley that's been dreadfully
smudged,' said Susie in an undertone. 'He's a nice, kind creature, but
his name is Jagson. He has virtue and industry. I haven't seen any of his
work, but he has absolutely _no_ talent.'
'How do you know, if you've not seen his pictures?' asked Arthur.
'Oh, it's one of our conventions here that nobody has talent,' laughed
Susie. 'We suffer one another personally, but we have no illusions about
the value of our neighbour's work.'
'Tell me who everyone is.'
'Well, look at that little bald man in the corner.


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