Prissie blushed, and looked down.
“Don’t be shocked with me,” said Hammond; “I can read your grateful heart. Come this way.” They passed Maggie Oliphant and her two or three remaining satellites. Prissie looked at her with longing, and tripped awkwardly against her chair. Hammond walked past Maggie as if she did not exist to him. Maggie nodded affectionately to Priscilla, and followed the back of Hammond’s head and shoulders with a supercilious, amused smile.
Hammond opened the outer drawing-room door. “Where are we going?” asked Priscilla. “Are not the pictures here?”
“Some are here, but the best are in the picture gallery—here to the left, and down these steps. Now, I’m going to introduce to you a new world.”
He pushed aside a heavy curtain, and Prissie found herself in a rather small room, lighted from the roof. It contained in all about six or eight pictures, each the work of a master.
Hammond walked straight across the gallery to a picture which occupied a wall by itself at the further end. It represented a summer scene of deep repose. There was water in the foreground; in the back, tall forest trees in the fresh, rich foliage of June. Overhead was a sunset sky, its saffron and rosy tints reflected in the water below. The master who painted the picture was Corot.
Hammond motioned Priscilla to sit down opposite to it.
“There is summer,” he said; “peace, absolute repose. You have not to go to it; it comes to you.”
He did not say any more, but walked away to look at another picture in a different part of the gallery.
Prissie clasped her hands; all the agitation and eagerness went out of her face. She leant back in her chair. Her attitude partook of the quality of the picture, and became restful. Hammond did not disturb her for several moments.