“I thought it was to give your opinion about the pictures,” I exclaimed, surprised. “Mr. Carruthers said you were a great judge.”
They looked at one another.
“Oh—ah—yes,” said Lord Robert, lying transparently. “Pictures are awfully interesting. Will you show me them after dinner?”
“The light is too dim for a connoisseur to investigate them properly,” I said.
“I shall have it all lit by electricity as soon as possible; I wrote about it to-day,” Mr. Carruthers announced, sententiously. “But I will show you the pictures myself, to-morrow, Bob.”
This at once decided me to take Lord Robert round to-night, and I told him so in a velvet voice while Mr. Barton was engaging Christopher’s attention.
They stayed such a long time in the dining-room after I left that I was on my way to bed when they came out into the hall, and could with difficulty be persuaded to remain for a few moments.
“I am too awfully sorry!” Lord Robert said. “I could not get away, I do not know what possessed Christopher, he would sample ports, and talked the hind leg off a donkey, till at last I said to him straight out I wanted to come to you. So here I am—now you won’t go to bed, will you—please, please.”
He has such pleading blue eyes—imploring pathetically like a baby in distress—it is quite impossible to resist him! and we started down the gallery.
Of course he did not know the difference between a Canaletto and a Turner, and hardly made a pretence of being interested, in fact when we got to the end where the early Italians hang, and I was explaining the wonderful texture of a Madonna, he said: