“Yes,” said Lady Martlett coldly. “There was nothing, though, worth looking at. I was terribly bored.”
“Hah! I suppose you would be. I had a couple of hours. All I could spare. There is some admirable work there, all the same.”
“I was not aware that Doctor Scales was an art critic.”
“Neither was I; but when I see a landscape that is a faithful rendering of nature in some beautiful or terrible mood, I cannot help admiring it.”
“Some people profess to be very fond of pictures.”
“I am one of those foolish people, Lady Martlett.”
“And have you a valuable collection, Doctor Scales?”
“Collection? Well, I have a folio with a few water-colours in it, given me by artist friends instead of fees, and I have a few photographs; that is about all. As to their value—well, if sold, they would perhaps fetch thirty shillings.”
Lady Martlett looked at him angrily, for she felt that he was assuming poverty to annoy her.
“Your Ladyship looks astonished; but I can assure you that a poor crotchety physician does not get much besides the thanks of grateful patients.”