“I am sorry to curtail a discourse on art,” said the mistress of Pen-y-Gros Castle, speaking in a tone that was beautifully distinct, “but you do not seem to be aware that the public is allowed in these grounds on sufferance only.”
Jim took off his hat and bowed in a very becoming if slightly ironical manner.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Crewkerne,” said he, “but I am aware of that perfectly. I have seen the notice which warns the public at least six times this morning.”
“I hope you will heed it,” said Lady Crewkerne.
“It does not forbid the public to paint the scenery, I believe,” said Jim coolly.
Jim had really no right to be so cool in the presence of the mistress of Pen-y-Gros Castle. All the same, it is by no means certain that she did not respect him for it.
“It depends,” said she, “upon what portion of the scenery the public wishes to paint. For instance, you appear to be painting some person who stands in the water. And the public is expressly forbidden to enter the water.”
“I am sorry,” said Jim Lascelles. “I beg your pardon, I’m sure.”
Jim Lascelles, for all his coolness, did not quite know what to say next to keep within the rules of the game. However, that section of the public that was standing in the water saw fit rather providentially to disobey the instructions of the artist. She left the water and came resolutely to the aid of Jim Lascelles. Barefooted and with her skirt kilted in the true Slocum Magna and Widdiford manner, she accosted the mistress of Pen-y-Gros Castle.
“Dearest Aunt Caroline,” said she, “this is Mr. Jim Lascelles, who saved me from falling over the precipice this morning.”