“It has been in my hands, nevertheless, for--O God, I don’t know! Fifty years, belike. I began it when I was a little girl, and time goes slowly in these days.” She jumped to her feet, and stood at his shoulder, pointing out the figures of the design. “Do you see? Here’s what I noted most, put down as in a commonplace book--people and texts, and even animals, including a number of my friends. Am I not a Lely in portraiture, cousin? Here’s my dear nurse, and here my governess to the life.” “To the knife, she looks rather. Who’s this--your father?” “Of course, stupid.” “Do you put in none but those you favour?” “O no! Here and there is one _distasteful_.” “Was this a favourite cat?” She pouted. “No, sir, a dog.” “And here’s your husband?” “No, another dog.” “H’m! You can get a likeness, indeed.” My lord, slamming down his book somewhat violently, got to his feet with a haste which seemed to belie the leisureliness of the stretch and yawn which followed. “Am I not to have my place among the favoured?” says Hamilton. “Would you like it?” questioned the artful rogue. “I should be hard put to’t to portray so perfect a gentleman. They have not come my way of late. What hath happened to your brooch, cousin? Stay while I refasten it for you.” He lifted his chin obediently, while she manipulated, with deft, slender fingers, the jewel at his cravat. My lord, with a quick, loud clearing of his throat, started and came across the room. “What, George!” said he. “I vow I was so lost in what I read I hardly noted you. What’s wrong with your cravat?” Hamilton, his head still tilted, responded brusquely but nosily--“It’s chokid be, that’s all.” Her little ladyship laughed. “I’ll be done in a moment, poor man.” “Zounds!” blustered her husband. “Here, let me fasten it!” She ignored him altogether. “How sweet you smell, cousin!” she said. “Is it kissing-comfits?” “That’s for sweet lips to answer,” gurgled Hamilton. My lord, in a vicious spasm, gripped the little wrist and wrenched it from its task. Hamilton cried “Damnation!” and my lady, putting the wounded limb to her mouth, looked up at him with wide appealing eyes. “Some beast has hurt me,” she said. “Take care of yourself, cousin, while I go and bathe it.” Half crying, she turned away and ran from the room. The moment she was gone the two men bristled upon one another, my lord opening with a snarl-- “There are limits, sir, to my forbearance.” “The first I’ve known of them,” was the sharp response. “What’s that?” “Why, what I say.” “My wife----” “Is she your wife? One would never guess it from the way you treat her.” “My wife, I say----” “We’ll take her word for’t--not yours.” “Do you quarrel with me, George?” “I’ faith, I’m her kinsman, Phil.” “You take the privileges of one.” “Better I than another, for your sins.” My lord gulped, as if he were taking a pill; then forced a propitiatory smile.