"By his appearance I should say the young gentleman had something on his mind," suggested Mr. Hardcase. "His countenance seems sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," quoted Mr. Blackdeed from his favourite author.
Then each member had something to say in turn, till our artist felt himself blushing up to the roots of his hair. In vain did he give himself a twisted pinch in the fleshy part of his leg under the table. The blush would rise, and there was no checking it. He fancied he could see the members give side glances one to the other, or trying to conceal a smile; but this may have been imagination.
Breakfast being now over, each member rose from the table, some gathering round the fire, one or two of them peering out into the murky gloom. Then Helen entered to clear away the breakfast things. She, too, seemed less lively than her wont, her face paler, and she went about her domestic duties mechanically, with downcast eyes.
"Why, Helen, my girl," exclaimed Dr. Bleedem, "you don't look as bright as usual. Have you been having a sleepless night? Have you been losing your appetite?"
The girl looked up confusedly, and a deep blush suffused her face and neck. The fame of Dr. Bleedem was great in the neighbourhood. She believed herself to be in the presence of a man who could read the secrets of her inmost soul, and that all attempts to mask them from his scrutinising gaze would be worse than useless.
"What has come to you young people of late, I don't know," continued Dr. Bleedem. "Now, here is Mr. McGuilp, he, too, has been losing his appetite, and suffering from insomnia."
Oh! how our artist wished that the ground would open at his feet and swallow him up. In vain he trod on his toes and turned his face towards the window, as if peering into the snow that was now falling fast. His ears continued to burn like fire, and all he could do, by mopping his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief, was inadequate to keep back the traitor blush.
"Oh! oh!" muttered Dr. Bleedem to himself, whilst gazing from one to the other. "Is that the way the wind lies?"
The members now began to look sideways, one at the other. One of them raised his eyebrows; another winked; a third suppressed a titter; but as this all took place behind our artist's back, who was still looking out intently at the snow, there was nothing to wound his sensibilities.
At length Mr. Oldstone broke the silence. "When are you thinking of beginning the copy of our Helen's picture, Mr. McGuilp?"