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Her mother's fine contempt for ladylike
accomplishments had even intervened in the high-school days to prevent
her taking a free-hand course required in the curriculum, during which
you spent weeks making a charcoal study of a bust of Demosthenes. But
this lack never even occurred to Rose as a handicap. She hadn't the
faintest impulse to make a beginning by putting a picture down on paper
and making a dress of it afterward. She went straight at her materials,
or the equivalent of her materials, as a sculptor goes at his clay. She
couldn't have told just why she had bought those three shades of paper
cambric.
"I'm really awfully obliged to you for having explained it to me," she
told Burton, the portrait painter long afterward.
"I see!" he had exclaimed, on the occasion of an initiatory visit to her
workroom. "You design these things in their values first, just the way
the old masters used to paint. Once you get the values in, you can
project them in any colors that will leave your value scale true.


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