As she pronounced the name with an unconsciously tender accentuation
Lord Blythe interrupted her.
"Why, that's a curious thing! I know a rather clever painter named
Amadis de Jocelyn—and surely you were dancing with him on the evening
I first met you?"
A wave of rosy colour swept over her cheeks.
"Yes!—that is what I was just going to tell you!" she said. "He is another Amadis de Jocelyn!—and he is actually connected with a branch of the same family! HIS ancestor was the brother of that very Amadis who lies buried at Briar Farm! Is it not strange that I should have met him!—and he is going to paint my portrait!"
"Is he indeed!" and Lord Blythe did not look impressed—"I thought he was a landscape man."
"So he is," she explained, with eagerness—"But he can do portraits—and he wishes to make a picture of me, because I have been a student of the books written by one of his ancient line. Those books taught me all I know of literature. You see, it is curious, isn't it?"
"It is," he agreed, rather hesitatingly—"But I've never quite liked Jocelyn—he's clever—yet he has always struck me as being intensely selfish,—a callous sort of man—many artists are."
Her eyes drooped, and her breath came and went quickly.
"I suppose all clever men get self-absorbed sometimes!" she said, with a quaint little air of wisdom—"But I don't think he is really callous—" She broke off, and laughed brightly—"Anyhow we needn't discuss him—need we? I just wanted to tell you what an odd experience it has been for me to meet and to know someone descended from the family of the old French knight whose spirit was my instructor in beautiful things! The little books of his own poems were full of loveliness—and I used to read them over and over again. They were all about love and faith and honour—"
"Very old-fashioned subjects!" said Lord Blythe, with a slight smile—"And not very much in favour nowadays!"