He returned to his work without further argument, as if this were enough reply. He was finishing a number of little carved frames, of which his window was full. There was a bill in the window on which “Selling off” was printed in large letters. The shop was full of wood and bits of carving all done up in bundles, and everything about showed marks of an approaching departure or breaking-up. The master of the house put on his cap again and gave himself up to his work. It was not of a kind which impressed the spectator. But the man who worked was not commonplace in appearance. He was not much taller than Sir William, but had a large massive head, covered with a crop of dusky hair. The softness of his eyes corresponded with that of his voice, but the lines of the face were not soft. He took no further notice of Fairfax, who, for his part, took his neglect quite calmly. The young man took his pipe out of his pocket, where he had put it stealthily when he first caught sight of the ladies, for one moment paused, and looked at it with a look of half-comic half-serious uncertainty. Should he keep it as a memento of that interview? He looked at it again and laughed, then pulled out of another pocket a little box of matches and lighted his pipe. He, like Paul, was quite familiar and at his ease in the workman’s shop. CHAPTER XI. “You have kept me a long time waiting,” said Sir William. “I should have thought elaborate leave-takings unnecessary in a place where you seem so much at home.” “I took no leave,” said Paul; “it was quite unnecessary. I shall see Spears again to-night.” Sir William turned round upon his son with quick impatience; then paused. This was not a case to be treated hastily, and patience was the best. “You and I differ in a great many points,” he said; “therefore it is not wonderful perhaps that I should think you have made a curious choice of a trade to learn: for I suppose you are by way of learning a trade. Don’t you think a certain amount of civilisation is necessary before picture-frames will become remunerative? I don’t think you could live by them in the bush.” Paul coloured high with that acute sense of being open to ridicule which is so terrible to youth. “Spears is selling off his stock,” he said. “I do not know if it is a sign of high civilisation, but he sells his picture-frames and lives by them. Most men of genius have been reduced to make their livelihood by some inferior branch of their work.” “And what then do you call his highest work?” Sir William asked carelessly. Paul, astonished, but willing to believe that his father had taken an interest in Spears and that all was about to go as he wished, fell into the trap, as any other unsuspicious nature would have done.