“No, I suppose not,” he said, amiably. “But, then, you know, I am not a scholar.”
Miss Erskine smiled in a superior sort of way.
“Very few of us are properly careful of our mode of speech,” she answered. “And, oh! Mr. Croyden, I hope you intend to open Clarendon, so as to afford those of us who care for such things, the pleasure of studying the pictures, and the china, and the furniture. I am told it contains a Stuart and a Peale—and they should not be hidden from those who can appreciate them.”
“I assume you’re talking of pictures,” said Croyden.
“I am, sir,—most assuredly!” the dame answered.
“Well, I must confess ignorance, again,” he replied. “I wouldn’t know a Stuart from a—chromo.” 75
Miss Erskine gave a little shriek of horror.
“I do not believe it, Mr. Croyden!—you’re playing on my credulity. I shall have to give you some instructions. I will lecture on Stuart and Peale, and the painters of their period, for your especial delectation—and soon, very soon!”
“I’m afraid it would all be wasted,” said Croyden. “I’m not fond of art, I confess—except on the commercial side; and if I’ve any pictures, at Clarendon, worth money, I’ll be for selling them.”
“Oh! Mrs. Carrington! Will you listen—did you ever hear such heresy?” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe it of you, Mr. Croyden. Let me lend you an article on Stuart to read. I shall bring it out to Clarendon to-morrow morning—and you can let me look at all the dear treasures, while you peruse it.”