They all went in to see it, and Barry arranged the portrait on an easel and adjusted a light for it.
“It is indeed splendid,” said Ford, in genuine admiration. The portrait was excellent and lifelike, but more than that it was a work of art. Beatrice, in a gown of deep ruby velvet, with the great staircase for a background, was at her very best. Her face, always handsome, was imbued with a fine spiritual grace, and she looked the embodiment of happiness. The whole conception was, perhaps, a little idealised, but it was a magnificent portrait, and a stunning picture.
“I’m so glad you have it, Beatrice,” said Joyce, softly. “You’ve been so good and dear, and have done so much for us all ever since Eric’s death, I’m happy for you to have this remembrance of him.”
“I’m glad, too,” and Beatrice looked at the reflection of herself through misty eyes.
Bobsy Roberts came in while they were looking at the portrait, and he, too, was charmed with its beauty.
“That staircase makes a wonderful setting. I’m a fancier of staircases, and I think this one beats any I ever saw.”
“A fancier of staircases, what do you mean?” asked Natalie.
“Yes, I’ve studied architecture, more or less, but the stairs have always especially interested me. I’ve just run across an old book, called ‘Staircases and Steps,’ and it’s most interesting.”
“I agree with you,” said Alan Ford. “And the staircase here is a gem. That’s why I wanted to see the plans of the house.”
“Mayn’t we see them?” asked Bobsy, turning to Joyce.