"Well, it cannot be helped," remarked the man resignedly. "Mayhap, by the time we are ready, Mr. Mortomley will be able to help us; if not, we must depend on the colours I know something about."
And having uttered this consolatory reflection, Mr. Lang arose to depart.
"I expect I'll have to be backwards and forwards," he observed; "and if I am, I'll call to know how things are going on; but if not, you'll write, ma'am."
"I will write," she answered; and so they separated.
Thinking it possible her husband might have fallen asleep, Mrs. Mortomley, when she went upstairs, opened the drawing-room door so gently that no one heard her enter.
At a glance she saw her husband, though awake, was lost in reverie, and that Rupert was copying the formula Mortomley had written out into his pocket-book.
"What are you so busy about, Rupert?" she asked, startling him by her question.
He turned a leaf over rapidly and answered, "Making a sketch, of Archie in a 'brown study.'"
"When you come to the accessories of the drawing, let me fill them in," she suggested, lifting the paper as she spoke from the table and looking Rupert steadily in the face.
"I have no doubt you would do so better than I," he replied with imperturbable composure. "A woman's imagination is always so much livelier than that of a man."