“My dear fellow,” said he, “I hope you understand what you are commissioned to do. You are commissioned to make a precise and exact copy of Gainsborough’s Duchess of Dorset for Cheriton House, not to perpetrate a tour de force of your own. Upon my word, Lascelles, that hair is really too much. And the set of the hat, as far as one may judge at present, certainly differs from the original. I am sorry to say so, Lascelles, but really I think in the interests of all parties it would be well if you started again.”
Jim put his hands in his pockets. Upon his handsome countenance was a very whimsical if somewhat dubious expression.
“Lord Cheriton,” said he, solemnly, “the truth is, if I could have afforded to lose a cool hundred pounds, which I don’t mind saying is more than the whole of what I made last year, I should not have accepted this commission. As I have accepted it I shall do my best; and if the results are not satisfactory I shall not look for remuneration.”
“Well, Lascelles,” said his patron, “that is a straightforward proposition. I dare say it is this confounded French method of looking at things that has misled you so hopelessly. ’Pon my word, I never saw such hair, and Gillet never saw such hair either. It is enough to make Gainsborough turn in his grave. It is most providential that I happened to look in. Take a fresh piece of canvas and start again.”
Jim Lascelles laid his head to one side with a continuance of his whimsical and dubious air. There was no doubt that the yellow was extremely bold and that the hair of the duchess was auburn.
Yet what of the cause of the mischief? There she sat on the sofa in her favorite pose, blissfully unconscious of the trouble she had wrought, for there could be no doubt whatever that her thoughts were of cream buns. And further, it seemed to Jim Lascelles that there could be no doubt either that her hair had been painted by the light of the morning. Cheriton, however, was too much preoccupied with the duchess to observe that fact.
“My dear Miss Araminta,” said he, “as this is a really fine morning, and this is really the month of May, let us stroll into the park and watch young England performing maritime feats on the Serpentine. And after luncheon, if the weather keeps fine, we will go to the circus.”
“What fun!” said Miss Perry.
CHAPTER XII
JIM LASCELLES TAKES A DECISIVE STEP
CAROLINE CREWKERNE’S “Wednesdays” had not been so thronged for many years past. They had been in their heyday twenty years earlier in the world’s history, when the spacious mansion in Hill Street was the fount of the most malicious gossip to be obtained in London. But the passing of the years had bereft Caroline of something of her vigor and of even more of her savoir faire. She had grown difficult and rather out of date.