He made Dierdre understand his way of "listening to a
landscape," knowing by the voice of the wind what trees it touched; the
buzz of olive leaves bunched like hives of silver bees against the blue;
the sea-murmur of pines; the skeleton swish of palms; the gay, dancing
rustle of poplars. And he showed her how he gathered beauty and colour
from words, which made pictures in his brain.
"I never thought of all these things when I could see pictures with my
_eyes_--and paint them with my hands," he said. And perhaps he gave a
sigh for the past, which touched Dierdre's heart as the wind, in his
fancy, touched the trees. "Couldn't you use your old knowledge, and
learn to paint without seeing?" she asked. "You might have a line for
the horizon, and with someone to mix your colours under your
directions--someone who'd tell you where to find the reds, where the
greens, and so on, someone to warn you if you went wrong. You might make
wonderful effects."
"I've thought of that," said Brian. "I've hoped--it might be. Sometime,
when this trip is over, I may ask my sister's help----"
"Oh, your sister's!" Dierdre broke in. "But she may marry. Or she may go
back to nursing again. I wish I could help you. It would make me happy.
It would be helping myself, more than you! And we could begin soon. I
could buy you paints from a list you'd give me. If we succeeded, you
could surprise your sister and the Becketts. It would be splendid.
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