When this was accomplished his mind became somewhat easier and he set out for the studio. He got on fairly well with himself—until he stood face to face with the big artist. Wade regarded him inscrutably: Peter regarded Wade with an expression which, in a woman, would have betokened an impending fit of hysteria.
“You don’t remember me, Mr. Wade?” said he.
“I remember you perfectly,” Roger replied.
“I—I called on a matter of—that is, not exactly of—well—a matter.”
“Will you come in?” said Roger, standing aside.
“Thank you—I’ll be glad to,” was Peter’s eager reply.
Within, his eyes made for a covered canvas on an easel in the middle of the big room. “Is that by any chance Mr. Richmond’s picture?” asked he.
“Mr. Richmond’s picture?” said Roger. “I know nothing of any picture of Mr. Richmond.”
“For Mr. Richmond.”
“Neither of nor for.”