A very different visitor this to the first. A tall, stalwart fellow, with a guardsman's chest, a long fair beard which hid his neck, and a huge pair of the most ridiculous moustaches. No bandbox fellow he! Dressed in a shooting suit, crowned by a soft, deer-stalker's hat, flourishing what was a bludgeon rather than a stick in his hand, he seemed hardly the type of figure which is generally to be found in the neighbourhood of Capel Court.
"Hallo, Ash, tracked you down, old man."
His voice was like himself: there was plenty of it. It should have been worth a fortune to him on the Stock Exchange.
"Summers! Whatever brings you here?"
"What doesn't often bring a man to the City--love, and my lady's eyes."
"What!"
Mr. Ash fairly sprang out of his chair. He stared at his visitor with bewildered surprise.
"You may well stare, and stare your fill. I'm worth staring at to-day, for I just don't feel as though I know whether I'm standing on my head or heels. The greatest stroke of luck has happened to me that ever happened to a man before--I've sold my picture for a thousand pounds."
"You've done what?"
"Ah, I knew you wouldn't believe it. It does sound incredible, doesn't it? But it is a fact, though, all the same. I've sold my New Gallery picture, 'A Dream of Love: an Idyll, by William Summers,' for a thousand pounds."