"Thank you!"
The duke looked at her with a glow of sympathy in his eyes.
"This is your daughter, I presume, Mr. Lisle?" he said.
Lisle nodded.
"Yes," he said. "My only child. All that is left me in the world—excepting my art. You are not an artist also, sir? Pardon me, but your criticism showed such discrimination and appreciation that I was led to conclude you might be a fellow-student."
The duke hesitated a moment.
"No," he said, quietly. "I am not an artist, though I am fond of a good picture——," poor Lisle gazed at the daub, and nodded with a gratified smile. "I am what is called—I was going to say a gentleman at ease, but I am very seldom at ease. My name is Temple, and I am traveling for the benefit of my health."
Lisle nodded again.
"You will find this an extremely salubrious spot," he said. "My daughter and I are very well here."
The duke glanced at Leslie's tall, graceful figure, and smiled grimly.