General Wyatt.—"All right. I'll stay and do the dragon, or whatever it is. But I wish you hadn't put it in that light, Margaret. I was proposing to enjoy myself."
Mrs. Wyatt.—"Enjoy yourself, James? With such a terribly perplexing affair before you!"
General Wyatt.—"I don't see anything perplexing about it. It's perfectly simple, to my mind. Mr. Bartlett kindly proposes to give Constance a few lessons in drawing,—or painting; I don't know which it is. That's the beginning and the end of it."
Mrs. Wyatt, with a heavy sigh.—"Yes, that's the beginning."
General Wyatt, impatiently.—"Well?"
Mrs. Wyatt.—"Nothing. Are you quite comfortable, here? Have you got everything you wish?"
General Wyatt, with a glance at the things on the table at his elbow.—"Here are my cigars, and—yes, here are the papers. Yes, I'm all right. But what do you mean by 'nothing'? What—Ah, here's Mr. Bartlett!" As Bartlett comes into the room, the General, since he cannot conveniently rise, makes a demonstration of welcome with his hands. Bartlett has his colour-box under his arm, and a canvas in his hand. "You've been improving the shining hour, I see. What have you there?"