"No," said Mr. Etheridge; "why should I? I have"—and he smiled—"no ambition. Besides I am an old man, I have had my chance; let the young ones take theirs, I leave them room. You are fond of art?"
"Very," said Mr. Adelstone. "May I look round?"
The old man waved his hand, and took up his brush.
Jasper Adelstone wandered round the room, taking up the canvases and examining them; Stella stood at the window humming softly.
Suddenly she heard him utter an involuntary exclamation, and turning round saw that he had the portrait of Lord Leycester in his hand.
His face was turned toward her, and as she turned quickly, he was in time to catch a sinister frown of dislike, which rested for a moment on his face, but vanished as he raised his eyes and met hers.
"Lord Leycester," he said, with a smile and an uprising of the eyebrows. "A remarkable instance of an artist's power."
"What do you mean?" asked Stella, quietly, but with lowered eyes.
"I mean that it is a fair example of ideality. Mr. Etheridge has painted a likeness of Lord Leycester, and added an ideal poetry of his own."
"You mean that it is not like him?" she said.