“Ah! La Voie Lactée!” cried Tysoe, dropping into French, as he sometimes did when he was moved. “Quite so! La Voie Lactée!”
“At home in Yorkshire,” said Oliver, “there are sometimes two big stars hanging just over the top of the moors, and they say it means love or death if you see it at half-past nine.”
Logan took charge of the conversation, frowning at Mendel and Oliver as though they were naughty children. He described the masterpiece he was painting, and Tysoe said:—
“I’m sure I shall like that. It sounds big and forceful, like yourself. Do let me have a look at it before anyone else sees it.”
Then he added:—
“I saw a charming still-life of yours once. A melon, I think it was. What has become of it?”
“It was sold, I fancy,” replied Mendel, who had never painted a melon in his life.
“Ah! A pity. I wanted some little thing for a wedding-present. No one I care about very much, so it must be a little thing.”
“He has two or three little things just now,” said Logan. “If you sent a messenger-boy round to his studio he would let you see them.”