‘Never mind,’ said Amy, as Anne departed—and he looked disconcerted, as a precise man always does when catching himself in a mistake—‘Anne is used to it, Guy is always doing it, and puzzles poor Arnaud sorely by sending him for Miss Amabel’s parasol.’
‘And the other day,’ said Guy, ‘when Thorndale’s brother, at Munich, inquired after Lady Morville, I had to consider who she was.’
‘Oh! you saw Thorndale’s brother, did you?’
‘Yes; he was very obliging. Guy had to go to him about our passports: and when he found who we were, he brought his wife to call on us, and asked us to an evening party.’
‘Did you go?’
‘Guy thought we must, and it was very entertaining. We had a curious adventure there. In the morning, we had been looking at those beautiful windows of the great church, when I turned round, and saw a gentleman—an Englishman—gazing with all his might at Guy. We met again in the evening, and presently Mr. Thorndale came and told us it was Mr. Shene.’
‘Shene, the painter?’
‘Yes. He had been very much struck with Guy’s face: it was exactly what he wanted for a picture he was about, and he wished of all things just to be allowed to make a sketch.’
‘Did you submit?’
‘Yes’ said Guy; ‘and we were rewarded. I never saw a more agreeable person, or one who gave so entirely the impression of genius. The next day he took us through the gallery, and showed us all that was worth admiring.’