"Good morning, gentlemen!" he said. "I trust you will permit me a seat at your table. It appears to be the only one."
Duncan contented himself with a nod. Wrayson felt compelled to be a little more civil. The man certainly seemed harmless enough.
"A very delightful spot, gentlemen," he continued, "and a fine, a very fine church that in the valley. I am spending my holiday taking photographs of churches of a certain period in this vicinity. I am looking forward to explore this one."
"I am afraid," Wrayson remarked, "that I do not know much of ecclesiastical architecture, but the æsthetic effect of this one, at least, is very fine."
The newcomer nodded.
"You are an artist perhaps, sir?" he asked innocently.
"I hope so—in some degree," Wrayson answered.
"Every one is fundamentally an artist, I suppose, who is capable of appreciating a work of beauty."
Duncan smiled slightly to himself. So far he had not spoken.
"It is all new country to me," the newcomer continued, "but from what I have seen of it, I should think it a grand place for painters. Not much for the ordinary tourist, eh?"