'But you have got it.'
Lord Wetherby shook his head.
'Well, you had when I saw the picture,' persisted Lady Wetherby. 'This child you're painting has just joined the Black Hand. He has been rushed in young over the heads of the waiting list because his father had a pull. Naturally the kid wants to do something to justify his election, and he wants to do it quick. You have caught him at the moment when he sees an old gentleman coming down the street and realizes that he has only got to sneak up and stick his little knife—'
'My dear Polly, I welcome criticism, but this is more—'
Lady Wetherby stroked his coat-sleeve fondly.
'Never mind, Algie, I was only joking, precious. I thought the picture was coming along fine when you showed it to me. I'll come and take another look at it.'
Lord Wetherby shook his head.
'I should have a model. An artist cannot mirror Nature properly without a model. I wish you would invite that child down here.'
'No, Algie, there are limits. I wouldn't have him within a mile of the place.'
'Yet you keep Eustace.'