"Oh! yes, I see," said Lady Gore, mendaciously as to the spirit, if not to the letter, for she certainly did not see in the negative held up by Miss Tarlton, which appeared to the untutored mind a square piece of grey dirty glass with confused black smudges on it, all that Miss Tarlton wished her to behold there. Then she became aware of a welcome interruption. "How do you do, Mr. Wentworth?" she said, putting down the photograph with inward relief, as a tall young man with a fair moustache and merry blue eyes came into the room. "Photographs?" he said, after exchanging greetings with his host and hostess, nodding to Rendel and bowing to Rachel. "Yes," said Lady Gore. "Now you shall give your opinion." "I shall be delighted," he said. "I have got heaps of opinions." "Do you photograph?" said Miss Tarlton, with a spark of renewed hope. "I am sorry to say I don't," answered Wentworth. "I believe it is a charming pursuit." "It is an inexhaustible pleasure," said Miss Tarlton, with conviction. "I congratulate you," said Wentworth, "on possessing it." "Yes," said Miss Tarlton solemnly, "I lead an extremely happy life. I take out my camera every day on my bicycle, and I photograph. When I get home I develop the photographs. I spend hours in my dark room." "It is indeed a happy temperament," said Wentworth, "that can find pleasure in spending hours in a dark room." "Have you ever tried it?" said Miss Tarlton. "Certainly," said Wentworth. "In London in the winter, when it is foggy, you know." "Oh," said Miss Tarlton, again with unflinching gravity. "I don't think you quite understand what I mean. I mean in a photographic dark room, developing, you know." "I see," said Wentworth. "When I am in a dark room in the winter I generally develop theories." "Develop what?" said Miss Tarlton. "Theories, about smuts and smoke, you know; things people write to the papers about in the winter," said Wentworth, whose idea of conversation was to endeavour to coruscate the whole time. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, if the spark was less powerful on some occasions than on others. "Oh," said Miss Tarlton, not in the least entertained. Wentworth, a little discomfited, could for once think of nothing to say. "I suppose," said Miss Tarlton, still patiently pursuing her investigations in the same hopeless quarter, "you don't know the name of that quite, quite new and tiny machine?" "Machine? What sort of machine?" said Wentworth. "A camera," said Miss Tarlton, with an inflection in her tone which entirely eliminated any other possibility. "No, I'm afraid I don't," said Wentworth. "I don't know the name of any cameras, except that their family name is legion." "What?" said Miss Tarlton. "Legion," said Wentworth again, crestfallen. "Oh," said Miss Tarlton. "Pateley would be the man to ask," said Wentworth, desperately trying to put his head above the surface. "Pateley? Is that a shop?" said Miss Tarlton eagerly. "Where?"