"But then she is not a cripple," he said.
"A cripple!" Mr. Lisle looked startled and bewildered. "Oh, no; oh, no."
The duke smiled, and leaning upon his stick, seemed to be watching the painter at his work, but his eyes wandered now and again covertly to the beautiful girl beside him. He noticed that her dress, though admirably fitting, was by no means new or of costly material, that her gloves were well worn and carefully mended in places, that her father, if not shabby, had that peculiar look about his clothes which tells so plainly of narrow means; and when Leslie, becoming conscious of his wandering glance, moved away and stood at a little distance on the edge of the quay, the duke said:
"Have you disposed of your picture, Mr. Lisle?"
Francis Lisle started and flushed.
"N-o," he replied. "That is, not yet."
"I am glad of that," said the duke. "I should like to become its purchaser, if you are disposed to sell it."
Lisle's breath came fast. He had never sold a "picture" in his life, had long and ardently looked forward to doing so, and—and, oh! had the time arrived?
"Certainly, certainly," he said, nervously, and his brush shook. "You like it so much? But perhaps you would like some others of mine better. I—I have several at the cottage. Will you come and look at them?"
"With pleasure," said the duke. "Meanwhile, what shall I give you for this?"