A cold glitter might have been observed in Annette's eyes.
'Mr Sellers,' she said, smoothly, 'had to work very hard himself before he reached his present position. You know his work, of course?'
For the first time Beverley seemed somewhat confused.
'I—er—why—' he began.
'Oh, but of course you do,' she went on, sweetly. 'It's in all the magazines.'
Beverley looked at the great man with admiration, and saw that he had flushed uncomfortably. He put this down to the modesty of genius.
'In the advertisement pages,' said Annette. 'Mr Sellers drew that picture of the Waukeesy Shoe and the Restawhile Settee and the tin of sardines in the Little Gem Sardine advertisement. He is very good at still life.'
There was a tense silence. Beverley could almost hear the voice of the referee uttering the count.
'Miss Brougham,' said Sellers at last, spitting out the words, 'has confined herself to the purely commercial side of my work. There is another.'
'Why, of course there is. You sold a landscape for five pounds only eight months ago, didn't you? And another three months before that.'