OOD-MORNING, General. I have come to return your call.”
The General stood in the door of his room, holding it half closed behind him. He wore a very old shooting-coat, smeared with many curious stains. Evidently he was engaged upon some unclean work, and evidently, also, he would have preferred me to call at some other hour. I remembered, now, Halfred's dark hints as to his occupation; but I remembered still more distinctly the dark eyes of Miss Unknown, and, whether he desired my company or not, I was determined to spend that morning in his room.
“Morning, mossoo,” he said. “Glad to see you, but—er—I'm afraid I'm rather in a mess at present.”
“You are the better company, then, for a conspirator who is never out of one,” I replied, gayly.
Still he hesitated.
“My dear General, positively I shall not permit you to treat me with such ceremony,” I insisted. “I shall empty your ink-pot over my coat to keep you company if you persist in considering me too respectable.”
Well, who could withstand so importunate a visitor? I entered the carefully guarded chamber, smiling at myself at the little dénouement that was to follow, and curious in the mean time to see what kind of a den it was that this amorous dragon dwelt in. The first glance solved the mystery of his labors. An easel stood in one corner, a palette and brushes lay on a table, a canvas rested upon the easel; in a word, my neighbor pursued the arts!