“Burden has a soul,” said the contemptuous Caroline. “In my opinion she would be better without it.”
“How ironical it is,” said Cheriton, “that you, who distrust art so profoundly, should have such a masterpiece in your drawing-room.”
“I am given to understand that a committee would like to buy it for the nation,” said the owner of the masterpiece, with a gleam of malice.
“Caroline, you promised years ago that if the time ever came when money could buy Araminta she should go to Cheriton House.”
“Well, the time has not come yet.”
“When it does come, I shall hold you to your promise.”
While Cheriton continued his examination of Gainsborough’s masterpiece, Caroline Crewkerne said to her gentlewoman—
“Burden, get my spectacles.”
Cheriton turned away from the picture at last. Naturally enough his gaze alighted on the sofa. Sitting in the center thereof was the wonderful Miss Perry. She was still at Slocum Magna. She had got to her third slice of bread and jam. Polly was pouring out a second sensible cup. Dearest Papa had just made one of his jokes. Charley and Milly were conducting an argument as to who was entitled to the cake with the currants in it. Miss Perry’s blue eyes were unmistakably moist; and although she was not actually sucking her finger, there could be no doubt that at any moment she might begin to do so. And the inverted vegetable basket that crowned her seemed to flop more than ever.
It was no wonder that Cheriton gave a little exclamation. A lover of beauty in all its manifestations, he had an eye for nature as well as for art. And here, side by side with Gainsborough’s masterpiece, making due allowance for a number of trifling details which did not in the least affect the subject, was an almost exact replica of that immortal work. Cheriton, in spite of his foibles, had the seeing eye. Notwithstanding the cobbled boots, the print frock, and the cloak with the hood, one thing was clear. Here was Araminta, Duchess of Dorset, in the flesh.