Matt did not reply; he was leaning against the marble mantel-piece, pale and perspiring.
“What do you think is his latest move?” pursued Herbert. “Though that’s rather a bull, for the mischief is that he refuses to go on our annual autumn jaunt abroad, lest it should interfere with Daniel and Nebby. However, I am to have a horse of my own, and that’s some consolation. Talking of horses, how do you like Nebby’s left leg? You see I’ve repainted it as you marked it.” He got up, walked backward, and surveyed the picture approvingly, brush in hand. “By Jove, it’s coming on splendidly! I could imagine I was in the palace. There is something in following Nature, after all. The creative part lies in the invention and color.... What’s the matter with you this morning, Matt? You don’t say a word. Are you sunstruck? or moonstruck?”
“Both,” said Matt, with a ghastly smile.
“Why, what’s up?” Herbert scrutinized his cousin’s face for the first time.
Matt looked towards the model.
“You know his English is limited,” Herbert remarked, reassuringly. “Unless you are bent on talking Arabic.” But Matt still hesitated. At last, as in desperation, he extracted a letter from his breast-pocket and tendered it to Herbert, who took it wonderingly, cast a glance at it, and frowned.
“The scoundrel!” he said. “How dare he send it in so soon? I shall never recommend him to anybody again.”
“It isn’t soon,” corrected Matt; “it’s more than three months.”
“You’re not going to take any notice of him yet?”
“Oh, I must.”