Mrs. Dexter smiled.
"I don't think he would like that, my dear. Great people don't like being thanked. At least, that's my experience," she repeated. "I will show you his lordship's portrait, if you like," she said, as they passed into the hall. "It is growing dark here; that painted window keeps out the light."
She switched on the electric light, and directed Celia's attention to the row of family portraits.
"I'll tell you who they all are some day," she said. "That is the present Marquess, at the end there."
Celia went to it and looked at it with interest.
"He has a nice face," she said.
"Yes, it is a good-looking family, as you see," said Mrs. Dexter, with a smile.
Celia's eyes wandered from the portrait of the Marquess to the one hanging next to it. It was the picture of a young man dressed in riding kit. He was a handsome lad, with a dare-devil look in his dark eyes, a hint of wildness, of recklessness and defiance, in the carriage of his head, the curve of his lips.
"That is a very beautiful picture," said Celia.
"Yes; it is one of the best in the gallery," said Mrs. Dexter. "It is the portrait of the Marquess's brother—his elder brother. He was very wild, and caused the family much trouble. He is dead, of course, or he would have been the marquess instead of his present lordship."