Pangbutt gave an embarrassed laugh, and turned to the butler:
“Dukes, bring up a tray—cold chicken—wine—anything you can get. Quick as you can.”
“Yessir!” said Dukes, and formally disappeared.
The beauty had been markedly uneasy; she now rose to take her leave.
“I must be running away, Mr. Pangbutt,” she said; and bowing over her shoulder to Anthony, who rose and returned her bow with stiff precision as she stepped lightly down from the throne: “So sorry!” she said.
As Pangbutt moved with her through the door she asked him in confidential undertone:
“Who’s the savage? Where does he come from?”
“Bohemia,” he said, with a dry mocking smile; and he lingered about her on the landing, to assist her with her cloak. He escorted her downstairs to her carriage....
When they were gone from the studio, Anthony Baddlesmere rose from his seat, carrying the last piece of a tea-cake in his hand, and, walking over to the easel, as he ate the cake he regarded the picture with critical eye:
“H’m! ’Tain’t bad!” he growled.