When at length the Sandfords were about to leave the room, the elder gentleman said to Mr. Greenleaf,—
"We should be happy to see you with our friend, Mr. Easelmann, at our house. Come without ceremony."
Miss Sandford's eyes also said, "Come!" at least, so Greenleaf thought.
Mr. Charles Sandford, meanwhile, who was cultivating the sublime art of indifference, the distinguishing feature and the ideal of his tribe, only tapped his boot with his slender ratan, and then smoothed his silky moustaches.
Greenleaf briefly expressed his thanks for the invitation, and, when the family had gone, turned to his friend with an inquiring look.
"Famous, my boy!" said Easelmann. "Sandford knows something about pictures, though rather stingy in patronage; and he is evidently impressed. The beauty, Marcia, is not a judge, but she is a valuable friend,—now that you are recognized. The widow is a most charming person. Charles, a puppy, as every young man of fashion thinks he must be for a year or two, but harmless and good-natured. The friendship of the family will be of service to you."
"But Marcia, as you call her, was depreciating my picture not a minute before you called me."
"Precisely, my dear fellow; but she didn't know who had painted it, and, moreover, she hadn't seen you."
Greenleaf blushed again.
"Don't color up that way; save your vermilion for your canvas. You are good-looking; and the beauty desires the homage of every handsome man, especially if he is likely to be a lion."