Canterton got up and went round looking at John Carfax’s pictures. They were rather extraordinary productions, and the red meat in the butcher’s shop was the colour of red sealing wax.
“Mr. Carfax liked ‘still life.’”
“Yes, he was a very quiet man. So fond of a littlelararium fishing—when he could get it. That is why he painted fish so wonderfully. Don’t you think so, Mr. Canterton?”
“Very probably.”
Eve returned and found Canterton studying the row of stucco houses with their iron gates and euonymus hedges. She coloured.
“Will the lamp be right, Eve, dear?”
“Yes, mother.”
She opened her portfolio on a chair, and after arranging the lamp-shade, proceeded to turn over sketch after sketch. Canterton had drawn his chair to a spot where he could see the work at its best. He said nothing, but nodded his head from time to time, while Eve acted as show-woman.
Mrs. Carfax excelled herself.
“My dear, how queerly you must see things. I am sure I have never seen anything like that.”