"
"But why should you paint subjects you would not like people to look at?"
"I very much want people to look at them."
"Why not us, then?" said Wynnie.
"Because you do not need to be pained."
"Are you sure it is good for you to pain anybody?" I said.
"Good is done by pain--is it not?" he asked.
"Undoubtedly. But whether _we_ are wise enough to know when and where and
how much, is the question."
"Of course I do not make the pain my object."
"If it comes only as a necessary accompaniment, that may alter the matter
greatly," I said. "But still I am not sure that anything in which the pain
predominates can be useful in the best way."
"Perhaps not," he returned.--"Will you look at the daub?"
"With much pleasure," I replied, and we rose and stood before the easel.
Percivale made no remark, but left us to find out what the picture meant.
Nor had I long to look before I understood it--in a measure at least.
It represented a garret-room in a wretchedly ruinous condition. The plaster
had come away in several places, and through between the laths in one spot
hung the tail of a great rat.
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