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We just waited, and presently old Yeardsley switched off, sat up, and began talking with a rush. "Clarence, my boy, I was tempted. It was that burglary at Dryden Park. It tempted me. It made it all so simple. I knew you would put it down to the same gang, Clarence, my boy. It seemed to dawn upon him at this point that Clarence was not among those present. "Clarence?" he said hesitatingly.
Why I didn't notice it before I don't know, but it was not till Elizabeth showed it to me after dinner that I had my first look at the Yeardsley "Venus." When she led me up to it, and switched on the light, it seemed impossible that I could have sat right through dinner without noticing it. But then, at meals, my attention is pretty well riveted on the foodstuffs.
I was feeling most frightfully sorry for the poor old chap by this time, don't you know, but I thought it would be kindest to give it him straight instead of breaking it by degrees. "I won't say a word to Clarence, Mr. Yeardsley," I said. "I quite understand your feelings. The Artistic Temperament, and all that sort of thing. I mean what? I know. But I'm afraid Well, look!"
But just as I was beginning to take a serious view of life and study furniture catalogues and feel pretty solemn when the restaurant orchestra played "The Wedding Glide," I'm hanged if she didn't break it off, and a month later she was married to a fellow of the name of Yeardsley Clarence Yeardsley, an artist.
It was this way. It seemed that old Yeardsley was an amateur artist and that this "Venus" was his masterpiece. He said so, and he ought to have known. Well, when Clarence married, he had given it to him, as a wedding present, and had hung it where it stood with his own hands. All right so far, what? But mark the sequel.
"I passed through Midford " "Dryden Park is only two miles from this house," said Elizabeth. I noticed her eyes were sparkling. "Only two miles!" she said. "It might have been us! It might have been the 'Venus'!" Old Mr. Yeardsley bounded in his chair. "The 'Venus'!" he cried. They all seemed wonderfully excited. My little contribution to the evening's chat had made quite a hit.
I remember low I once scored Yeardsley for hanging on after he had lost his grip; and here am I doing the same thing. But what's the matter with you? Speak out, my boy. Something new in the wind?" "No, Mr. Gryce; nothing new. It's the same old business. But, if what I suspect is true, this same old business offers opportunities for some very interesting and unusual effort.
Anyway, it was not till Elizabeth showed it to me that I was aware of its existence. She and I were alone in the drawing-room after dinner. Old Yeardsley was writing letters in the morning-room, while Bill and Clarence were rollicking on the half-size billiard table with the pink silk tapestry effects.
But then I've had it thrust on my notice, by George, in a way I should imagine has happened to pretty few fellows. And the limit was reached by that business of the Yeardsley "Venus." To make you understand the full what-d'you-call-it of the situation, I shall have to explain just how matters stood between Mrs. Yeardsley and myself. When I first knew her she was Elizabeth Shoolbred.
"A mewing cat. I feel sure I hear a mewing cat. Listen!" While we were listening the door opened, and a white-haired old gentleman came in. He was built on the same lines as Clarence, but was an earlier model. I took him correctly, to be Mr. Yeardsley, senior. Elizabeth introduced us. "Father," said Clarence, "did you meet a mewing cat outside? I feel positive I heard a cat mewing."
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