Finally, seeing no way of approaching the matter as if by chance, I wrote and offered him the portrait for the collection at Hammerton, and he replied asking me to come and see him.
I went, and was shown into his private sanctum. He was, considering his temperament, quite profuse in his thanks, but would at first not hear of accepting the portrait as a gift.
“As you say, it is not by a great name,” he said; “but at the same time it is a very good name, and is worth money, and more than money, to me.”
I gave him to understand that if he declined it as a gift it would hurt my feelings, as I should conclude that he did not care about accepting anything at my hands. This I conveyed to him in as tactful a way as possible. He saw, however, what I meant, and graciously accepted the picture.
“You must come down and see it hung.”
He could not very well say less, but by the expression of his face I wondered whether a vague suspicion of my motive had not, even as he spoke, entered his mind.
However, the invitation was given, and I intended to avail myself of it. I had no intention of allowing the matter to slip his memory.
“It must be a week-end,” I said smiling, “for, you know, I work hard all the week.”
“Lady Gascoyne shall write and ask you. She is at Hammerton herself at present.”
It was quite unnecessary for his lordship to inform me of Lady Gascoyne’s whereabouts, for I followed the movements of his household as closely as he did himself.