He pulled both young men from the bench and walked between them arm in arm, down the gravel path which led, as they knew, to his private quarters in the northwest wing of the building.

“I’ve dabbled a little in that sort of thing myself,” Hans Castorp explained.

“You don’t say! Gone in for it properly⁠—oils?”

“Oh, no, I never went further than a watercolour or so. A ship, a sea-piece, childish efforts. But I’m fond of painting, and so I took the liberty⁠—”