"Greenleaf, George Greenleaf."
"A new name. Look at that distant spire," he continued, "faintly showing among the trees in the background. The water is surprisingly true. A charming picture. I think I'll buy it."
"How quickly you decide," said the lady, with an air of languor. "The picture is pretty enough, but you haven't seen the rest of the collection yet. Gamboge paints lovely landscapes, they say. I wouldn't be enthusiastic about a picture by an artist one doesn't know anything about."
A gentleman standing behind a screen near by moved away with a changed expression and a deepening flush. Another person, an artist evidently, now accosted the party, addressing them as Mr. and Miss Sandford. After the usual civilities, he called their attention to the picture before them.
"We were just admiring it," said Mr. Sandford.
"Do you like it, Mr. Easelmann?" asked the lady.
"Yes, exceedingly."
"Ah! the generosity of a brother artist," replied Miss Sandford.
"No; you do the picture injustice,—and me too, for that matter; for," he added, with a laugh, "I am not generally supposed to ruin my friends by indiscriminate flattery. This young painter has wonderfully improved. He went up into the country last season, found a picturesque little village, and has made a portfolio of very striking sketches."
Miss Sandford began to appear interested.