Lord Glencairn slapped him on the back with playful earnestness. “Come, come, my lad!” he cried gayly, “this will never do; you are in the dumps; throw it off, lad, and be merry. Do not heed the idle gossip of your unsuccessful rivals and the scandal mongers. Rest assured your popularity and fame will never die whether you remain here or retire to the country.”
“Would I could think so,” sighed Robert gloomily.
Eppy suddenly gave a nervous little giggle. “I vow I feel like crying,” she observed hysterically, “I wish everybody wouldn’t look so mournful.”
Mr. Mackenzie turned quickly to his hostess. “My dear Duchess,” he said courteously, “you were going to show us your new painting in which Mr. Burns is the central figure of the group.”
At once the silent group became animated. “Oh, yes, do!” cried Eppy, with a yearning look at Robert. “I wonder if I could pick you from among the others?” she coyly observed.
“I trust, madam, that my phiz will be recognizable,” he replied dryly.
The Duchess turned to her husband. “Take Miss Campbell and lead the way to the gallery,” she said quickly.
“Is Mr. Burns to take me?” inquired Eppy of her hostess, but she had followed her husband, leaning on the arm of Mr. Mackenzie.
Lady Glencairn smiled sweetly, “So sorry, Miss McKay, but Sir William has asked for that pleasure.”