Marmaduke, leaving Douglas in the grill-room, went upstairs to the picture galleries, where several students were more or less busy at their easels. Lady Constance was in the Sheepshanks gallery, copying “Sterne’s Maria,” by Charles Landseer, as best she could. She had been annoyed some minutes before by the behavior of a stout woman in a rich costume of black silk, who had stopped for a moment to inspect her drawing. Lady Constance, by a look, had made her aware that she was considered intrusive, whereupon she had first stared Lady Constance out of countenance, and then deliberately scanned her work with an expression which conveyed a low opinion of its merit. Having thus revenged herself, she stood looking uneasily at the door for a minute, and at last wandered away into the adjoining gallery. A few minutes later Marmaduke entered, looking round as if in search of someone.
“Here I am,” said Constance to him, playfully.
“So I see,” said Marmaduke, recognizing her with rueful astonishment. “You knew I was looking for you, did you?”
“Of course I did, sir.”
“Youre clever, so you are. What are you doing here?”
“Dont you see? I am copying a picture.”
“Oh! it’s very pretty. Which one are you copying?”
“What an impertinent question! You can tell my poor copy well enough, only you pretend not to.”
“Yes, now that I look closely at it, I fancy it’s a little like Mary the maid of the inn there.”
“It’s not Mary: it’s Maria—Sterne’s Maria.”