“A bargain is a bargain,” said Cheriton. “I hold your promise that I am to purchase the picture on my own terms.”
In the flood tide of his bewilderment Jim Lascelles had perforce to remain silent.
“Don’t forget, my dear Lascelles, that the highest pleasure that is given to any man is to adopt the role of Mæcenas. And are you aware that the Red House at Widdiford is in the market, and that six thousand pounds will purchase it?”
Jim flinched a little. A deep flush overspread his face. This was sacred ground, upon which it behoved the outside world to tread warily.
“I hope you don’t mean that the Red House at Widdiford means nothing to you?”
Jim was not proof against the assault.
“I’m not sure that it does,” he said miserably.
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that if I were you.”
Jim began to look decidedly fierce. In spite of the check for ten thousand pounds, which he viewed as somewhat in the nature of a mockery, he showed no disposition to be baited.
“Perhaps it would be wise, Lord Cheriton, not to pursue the subject.”