If it was awkward and stupid sitting with Humphrey on a bench while he discoursed on Colour, it was still more awkward when the other one appeared with a countenance wreathed with smiles, and sat on the other side. Nor did there appear any reason why the one with the beard should suddenly break off his oration, turn very red in the face, get up, and walk slowly across the lawn to take his brother's place. But that is what he did, and Cornelius took up the running.
Humphrey sat down beside Phillis without speaking. She noticed in him the same characteristics of nervousness as in his brother. Twice he attempted to speak, and twice his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth.
"He is going to tell me that Cornelius adores me," she thought.
It was instinct. That was exactly what Humphrey—the treacherous Humphrey—had determined on doing. Matrimony, contemplated at close quarters and in the presence of the enemy, so to speak, lost all its charms. Humphrey thought of the pleasant life in Carnarvon Square, and determined, at the very last moment, that if either of them was to marry it should not be himself. Cornelius was the elder. Let him be married first.
"You are peaceful and happy here, Miss Fleming—may I call you Phillis?"
"Certainly, Mr. Humphrey. We are old friends, you know. And I am very happy here."
"I am glad"—he sighed heavily—"I am very glad indeed to hear that."
"Are you not happy, Mr. Humphrey? Why do you look so gloomy? And how is the Great Picture getting on?"
"The 'Birth of the Renaissance' is advancing rapidly—rapidly," he said. "It will occupy a canvas fourteen feet long by six high."
"If you have got the canvas, and the frame, and the purchaser, all you want now is the Picture."