At the sound of his voice Jessica's face whitened, and she turned away, frightened, and trembling; as she did so, her foot struck against something light lying on the kerb. She stooped and found it was a small roll of papers, part of those which had been in the gentleman's hand, and which he had been studying so attentively.
She did not trouble to open it, but slipped it into the bosom of her dress and walked dreamily away.
CHAPTER XVI
"Is it a Rubens, or is it not? That is the question," drawled Frank Parselle, as he dropped his eyeglass.
On an easel in Lady Merivale's drawing-room, stood a picture, before which were grouped a small assembly of her friends, including one or two artists and connoisseurs.
Lord Merivale was also present, having been dragged away from his beloved farm, and worried into the purchase of this picture--the usual "Portrait of a gentleman"--by his beautiful wife. He himself knew nothing whatsoever about it, either as to its value or its genuineness; it was worn and dirty-looking, and, in his opinion, would have been dear at a five-pound note.
"Yes, that is the question," echoed Lord Standon. "It's not a bad face though. I should vote it genuine right enough."
"It's extremely dirty," yawned Lord Merivale, casting a longing look at the green grass of the park opposite and thinking of his new shorthorns in Somersetshire.
"Philistine!" exclaimed his wife, tapping him playfully on the arm. "You are incorrigible. Dirty! why, that is tone."
"Ah," returned her husband, turning away and gazing admiringly at a bull by Potter. He was as wise as he had been before; for the jargon of Art and fashionable society was not one of his accomplishments.