Aline knit her brows and thought for some time. Menstrie, who was very clever with his chalk, was making sketches of her. “What a very thoughtful lady!” he said.
“Oh, is not that beautiful?” exclaimed Audry. “It is as beautiful as you are, Aline dear. Where did you learn about drawing, Master Menstrie?”
It was a charming little head with bold free lines and full of expression, very like an Andrea del Sarto.
“Oh, when I was in Florence and Venice,” said Ian; “it was a great time for me and I learned many things that it would have been almost impossible to learn over here. I was lucky enough to get to know both Paolo Veronese and Tintoretto as they called him, but I like the Florentine work better still. I often think I might have been an artist, but I have too many other responsibilities.”
Aline looked up at this point. “Yes, that is wonderful. Father was very fond of drawing and had several friends who were artists. There was Master Lindsay, who did a beautiful portrait of mother, but do you know I do not believe he could have drawn as well as that; it is so bold and free and yet sensitive and delicate in its details. His work was much more cramped and over-elaborated. No,” she said, holding the drawing at arm’s length, “I am sure he could not have done it nearly so well.”
“Well, never mind about the drawing,” said Menstrie; “what were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking that the theft could not very well have taken place at night. If it had, probably many more things would have gone. But some one may have slipped into the little room for a moment when the old seneschal’s back was turned. We might go along and find out when Edward is there, whether we can hear and know what goes on from the secret passage.”
“It is just about now that Edward fetches the silver,” said Audry.
“Come along then.”
So the two children jumped up and ran to the door. “Good-bye,” said Aline, waving her hand, “wish us luck.”