“With a view to working better afterwards, I have no doubt,” I answered.
“You are right there, I hope,” was his quiet reply, as he turned and walked back to the island.
He had not made a step towards joining us. He had only taken his hat off to the ladies. He was gaining ground upon me rapidly.
“Have you quarrelled with our new friend, Harry?” said my wife, as I came up to her.
She was sitting on a stone. Turner and Wynnie were farther off towards the foot of the fall.
“Not in the least,” I answered, slightly outraged—I did not at first know why—by the question. “He is only gone to his work, which is a duty belonging both to the first and second tables of the law.”
“I hope you have asked him to come home to our early dinner, then,” she rejoined.
“I have not. That remains for you to do. Come, I will take you to him.”
Ethelwyn rose at once, put her hand in mine, and with a little help soon reached the table-rock. When Percivale saw that she was really on a visit to him on his island-perch, he rose, and when she came near enough, held out his hand. It was but a step, and she was beside him in a moment. After the usual greetings, which on her part, although very quiet, like every motion and word of hers, were yet indubitably cordial and kind, she said, “When you get back to London, Mr. Percivale, might I ask you to allow some friends of mine to call at your studio, and see your paintings?”
“With all my heart,” answered Percivale. “I must warn you, however, that I have not much they will care to see. They will perhaps go away less happy than they entered. Not many people care to see my pictures twice.”