At the mention of the word Standard, there appeared on the artist's face the same peculiar expression that I had previously noticed.
"Standard, Standard!" he muttered reflectively. "Why, that's the—" He stopped, and added abruptly, "Do you have the Standard sent to you?"
"It has been sent to me. Why?"
"O, nothing, nothing," replied Angelo; "nothing at all. It's a—a Conservative journal, and I know—at least, I believe—you're a Radical."
"A Radical. Noble profession!" responded my uncle.
"Yes; that's all it is—profession!" laughed Daphne, whose political ideals differed from those of her father.
"The Standard is not my paper, as you very well know," said my uncle, grandly ignoring his daughter's remark. "It's the butler's fault that it is here. I wrote telling him to forward to Rivoli a file of newspapers for June and July. As I forgot to specify what paper, the rascal has sent me the Standard."
"For, being a good old Tory," said Daphne, "he thought it well to administer an antidote to your Radicalism. I think his act deserves commendation."
"June and July," muttered Angelo. "What did you think of the critique on my picture?"
"Didn't know there was a critique on it. In fact, I haven't read the papers yet. I was simply untying the parcel last night, when my eye was caught by a paragraph to the effect that 'Intending visitors to Paris should not fail to visit the Vasari Art Gallery, and view Vasari's magnificent production, "The Fall of Cæsar," the great picture of the year, already visited by—' I forget how many thousand persons."