"Oh, everybody reads the Gossip," Rangely interposed, good-naturedly coming to the rescue; "although it's to the credit of humanity that everybody has the grace to be ashamed of it."
There was a bustle and stir in the crowd as Tom Bently pushed his way up to the group.
"By Jove, Rangely," he said, "have you got on to that statue? Do you know what it's cribbed from?"
"No," returned Fred; "is it from anything in particular? I supposed it was just a general steal from the antique, and Stanton appropriates only to destroy."
"I don't know what it is," was Bently's reply, "but I know there's a cut of it in a book I've got at the studio."
Rangely's eyes flashed.
"Good," said he, "I'll come round to-night and we'll look it up. I'm going to do a notice of the America for the Observer."
The two exchanged significant glances, laughing inwardly at the discomfiture of the unfortunate sculptor.
"But don't you admire the figure?" asked Mrs. Sampson, eagerly seizing an opportunity to get into the conversation.
"It's the kind of thing I should have liked when I was young," Bently returned. "I was taught to like that sort of thing; but all the preliminary rubbish that was plastered on to me when I was a youngster, I have shed as a snake sheds its skin."