Margery turned to Jack.
"No more tennis for me unless you stop," she said. "Have you ever been with us when Frank is painting? I see nothing of him all day, and he gobbles his meals and scowls at the butler."
The footman came in again with the tea-things.
"And take that big looking-glass out of the spare bedroom," said Frank to him, "and put it in the studio."
"What do you want a looking-glass for?" asked his wife, as the man left the room.
Frank got up, and walked restlessly up and down. "I begin to-morrow," he said; "I've got the idea ready. I can see it. Until then it is no use trying to paint; but when that comes, it is no use not trying."
"But what's the looking-glass for?" repeated Margery.
"Ah, yes, I haven't told you. I'm going to paint a portrait of myself."
"That's my advice," observed Margery. "I've often suggested that to you, haven't I, Frank?"
"You have. I wonder if you did wisely? This afternoon, however, other things suggested it to me."