“What a rummy old card!” was Luigi’s outspoken comment almost before her back was turned.
“Lewis, how can you speak of her in that way?” exclaimed Giovanna. “To me she has something of the air of a broken-down duchess.”
“As if you had ever seen a broken-down duchess, mother!” retorted the young man flippantly.
“Mrs. Burton is a lady by birth—at least, so she gives everyone to understand,” remarked Everard drily. “And now, Mr. Clare, here we are among the painted effigies of your ancestors. I have already made the acquaintance of most of them, as far as it is possible for a man still in the flesh to do so. Would you like me to introduce you to any of them?”
“N—no, I think not. Fact is, I don’t care a rap about the whole boiling of ’em.”
“Idiot!” hissed Giovanna in his ear. Then turning to Everard with a smile, she said:
“I am afraid my son is falling into an absurd habit—sadly too common among the young men of to-day—of depreciating things which they really understand and care about, although they won’t admit it. One day I must show you some of Lewis’s drawings and water-colours. He has done nothing in oils as yet, I believe. I fancy they will rather surprise you.”
“What rubbish you talk, mother!” exclaimed Luigi.
“By the way,” continued Mrs. Clare without heeding him, “if among these portraits there is one of my son’s namesake, the Colonel Lewis Clare who was killed in battle, I should certainly like to have it pointed out to me.”
Luigi yawned openly.