For a moment he sat unconscious of the audience which stood before him—one a lady, who had to make an effort to hide her agitation.
“Hope you’re satisfied, old boy,” said Mr. Tallant, approaching the artist.
“Good-morning—good-morning, ladies,” said Mr. Phillips in his deep mellow voice, and advancing to meet the party.
“Ah! deuced good—capital,” said Richard, standing in front of the easel.
“Do you think so?” said the artist. “What do you think, Miss Tallant? I have been working at this poor trifle of study, I am ashamed to say how long.”
“I am sure you need not be ashamed,” said Miss Tallant, quietly.
“You have been highly successful, as you always are,” said Miss Somerton.
“Come along, Phillips, come along; we are going to have luncheon. The governor is away, and I’m master to-day. Come along, and we’ll talk about the world and what it says. You ought to have been up the hill with us; my lady friends have been wonderfully eloquent about good boys and naughty boys, and all sorts of things. Tommy was a good boy; he said his lessons, and never went into bad company, and he got some nice cake. Billy was a bad boy, and he wouldn’t say his lessons, and he was whipped, and he got no cake. There, don’t be angry, Miss Somerton,” said Richard, rattling on and laughing at Amy, evidently glorying in what he had heard; and yet piqued at her covert replies to his pretended gossip.
“Angry! not I, Mr. Tallant. If Tommy is good, Tommy will be rewarded, at any rate, with an approving conscience; and Billy—why, if he is bad, he will assuredly be punished. And so let us go to luncheon.”
“Hear, hear! Come along, Phillips;” and as soon as the artist was ready they all went together over the lawn, and disappeared within the handsome portals of Mr. Tallant’s princely residence.