“Come, my dear fellow,” he said, “take us to see your masterpiece.”
“One moment,” said Jim, disengaging his arm.
He walked to the chimney-piece, and solemnly took up the plate of cream buns. With these in his hand he led the way through the open French window to the wooden erection in the garden. Cheriton brought up the rear of the procession, shepherding the six ladies with his usual air of excessive gallantry.
The painting-room contained merely a rug for the floor, a large and comfortable sofa with cushions, and at the far end, in a sumptuous light, the single canvas three parts complete. A dozen studies of the great subject and minor works had been tidied away.
The Miss Champneys gave vent to their admiration.
“But surely,” said Lady Charlotte Greg, making great play with her glasses—“but surely this is a very fine picture.”
“I am beginning to think so,” said Cheriton, complacently.
“I have thought so from the first,” said the mother of the artist.
“I also, dear Mrs. Lascelles,” said Miss Burden.
“I wish I could have worn my fancy frock,” said Miss Perry, without any suggestion of vanity. “But it is not for out of doors.”