He had come to Fulham only for the evening, being on his way to take a steamer from Montreal back to England. The two men had dinner together, and then, returning to the studio, conversed long and earnestly. Gregory spoke freely but not fully of plans which absorbed him, but which were not yet matured. Some theory of social coöperation was in full possession of his mind, and he had small consideration for things outside. Everett listened with serious attention to all that he said, and when he rose to make ready for departure he remarked:—
“Mr. Gregory, when the time comes that you are ready to carry into execution any plan embodying this principle of brotherhood, count on me, if you think me worthy. I am ready to follow you—anywhere.”
Gregory looked down upon the young man with his grave and winning smile.
“Thank you, Everett; I shall remember. But do you know, my dear fellow, I want to ask a tremendous favour of you now, this very night?”
“Say on,” returned the other.
Gregory had crossed the room to the easel, and now stood with a look intent on the picture of the young Virgin.
“It is a bold request, but I want to buy this picture of you now—before you have a chance to touch it again. Who knows but you may spoil it? It interests me unusually, and I want to take it with me to England,—to do that it must go with me to-night. I will pay you any price you have in mind. I want it for a purpose, Everett.”
“What! you mean that I should let it go to-night, before I have finished it, or shown it to Mrs. Burgess herself even?” and Everett looked almost aghast. “She has never seen it, even once, you know.”
“Yes,” said the other, looking fully into the artist’s excited face with undisturbed quietness; “that is exactly what I ask of you. I will promise to return the painting to you at some future date if that should be your wish. I shall be over here again in a year.”
Everett stood for a moment, reflecting.