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Presently, however, the latter said: "You left us rather suddenly at Millstead." "Yes." "Sent for?" "You of all men know why I went, Mr. Morewood." "If you don't mind my admitting it, I do. But most people are so thin-skinned." "I am not thin-skinned not in that way. Of course you know. You told me." "That head?" "Yes; you did me a service." "Well, I think I did, and I'm glad to hear you say so."
"Is it your diabolic fancy," he said, "or did you honestly copy it?" "I never struck closer to what I saw," the painter replied. "It's not my doing; he looked like that." "Then who was sitting, as it were, where I am now?" "Yes," said Morewood. "I thought you couldn't miss it." "Who was it?" asked Eugene, in an excited way. The others looked keenly at him for a moment. "You know," said Morewood.
Lady Richard was far too prostrate to accept any challenge. "You do hate it as much as I do, don't you?" she implored. "Quite," said he with restrained intensity. "But if you ask me, I think she'll do it." A pause followed. "Fred Wentworth must have been waiting ever so long for me," Lady Richard murmured apologetically, though an apology to Morewood could not soothe Fred.
Matters improved, however, in the drawing-room. The Bishop and Stafford were soon deep in conversation; and Claudia, thus deprived of her former companion, condescended to be very gracious to Mr. Morewood, in the secret hope that that eccentric genius would make her the talk of the studios next summer by painting her portrait.
The price offered was such that Morewood could not refuse; but he had in the course of the sitting greatly annoyed Claudia by mentioning incidentally that her face did not interest him and was, in fact, such a face as he would never have painted but for the pressure of penury. "Why doesn't it interest you?" asked she, in pardonable irritation. "I don't know.
Who'll believe he did it unconsciously? And if he breaks her heart, how is it better because he did it unconsciously?" "You are unusually benevolent," said Morewood dryly. "Hang it! a man has some feelings." "You're a humbug, Ayre!" "Never mind what I am. You won't tell him?" "No." "It would be a very interesting problem." "It would." "That vow of his is all nonsense, ain't it?" "Utter nonsense!"
What's the harm, again I say? And if she loves you " "What?" he cried eagerly. Then, checking himself, "Hold your peace, in Heaven's name, and let me go!" He went his way, and Morewood leaped from the window to find the other two. He found them, but not alone. Ayre was discoursing to Claudia and appeared entirely oblivious of the occurrence which he had precipitated.
"I don't know anything about it," said Dick morosely, "but I hear there's no particular likelihood of his dying if he obeys orders and keeps quiet." "Just so, just so," said Morewood. "That's exactly what I mean. Do you suppose she'd ever have taken him if he'd been going to keep quiet? You know why you took him up; well, she did just the same.
"I have pursued you from Grosvenor Square, Lady Julia," he said. "I didn't come to see old Morewood, you know." "As much as to see me, I dare say," said Lady Julia in an aside. Eugene protested with a shake of the head, and Morewood carried him off to have such inspection of the picture as artificial light could afford. "You've got her very well." "Yes, pretty well.
She leant forward a little, smiling, and spoke clearly and composedly. "Oh, you misunderstood him," she said. "He was consulted, but fell ill before he could go into all the facts or write his report. But he had expressed a favourable opinion of the Alethea to my husband." She paused, and then added, "If you'd taken the trouble to read the prospectus you'd have known that, Mr. Morewood."