They sat down in merry mood and did honour to the simple and appetising lunch.
"What a pity you did not turn up a few moments earlier, my dear fellow!" said Philip to Lorimer. "You would have been edified, and have heard Dora holding forth against wealth. The contempt my wife has for money is sublime. She is of the opinion that art, like virtue, should be its own reward."
"I'm sorry to say it's often the only one art gets," said Lorimer. "Well, what's your news?"
"Haven't any," said Philip. "Oh yes, though," added he, "Sir Benjamin Pond threatens to pay us a visit to-day ... deuce take him."
"You're in luck; he spends a mint of money in pictures."
"They say he buys them by the dozen."
"Hum," said Lorimer, "by the square yard. He's an awful ass, but his money is as good as that of the cleverest. When I said just now, 'What's your news?' I meant from the workshop."
"My wife's portrait will be finished in an hour's time; you shall see it after lunch."
"And what will you call it?"
"Oh, simply, 'Portrait of Mrs. Grantham,' or perhaps, 'A Bunch of Pansies.'"