“Oh, up in the garret. You wouldn’t know the place. Mr. Gregg pulled everything round until it is the cosiest room you ever saw.”
The Judge shot a quick, searching glance at Adam. Then his eye took in the lithe, graceful figure of the young man, so buoyant with health and strength.
“Up in the garret! Why didn’t you paint it here, or in the front room?”
“I needed a north light, sir.”
“And you could only find that in a garret? I should have thought the parlor was the place for a lady. And are you satisfied with the result?” he asked in a more formal tone, as he dropped into a chair and turned to Adam. The long ride had fatigued him more than he had thought possible.
“Well, it certainly is the best thing I have ever done. The flesh tones are purer, and the——”
The Judge looked up: “Of the face?”
“All the flesh tones—especially the tones around the curl where it lies on the bare shoulder.”
He was putting his best foot forward, arguing his side of the case. Half of Olivia’s happiness would be gone if her husband were disappointed in the portrait.
“Let us go up and look at it,” the Judge said, as if impelled by some sudden resolve.