‘Sold Suffolk’s picture!’ the Academician said with a start. It was the most wonderful piece of news that had been heard in the artists’ quarter for many a year. For no man had gone so consistently in the face of popular opinion as Suffolk, or held so obstinately by his own style. Laurie, nothing loth, told the whole story, with excitement and a natural satisfaction; and how it was old Rich, the City man, who was well known to be the padrona’s special property. And as he told it he looked down upon the bit of cobweb, by this time gone to the merest speck,--the sign in that particular matter, of his close partnership with the padrona,--which was still on his coat. ‘So she sent him her own patron?’ said Mr. Welby; ‘that was good of her, Renton,--that was very good of her. To be sure, he had just given her a commission. I suppose you heard of that. A private patron is a great institution, my dear fellow,--there is more satisfaction in it than in dealers. He has given her a commission to fill one room with pictures. There are to be twelve of them I think, and the subjects from the fairy tales. She’ll do it very well. She has wonderful invention, you know, in her way, and Cinderella and little Red Riding Hood, and all the rest will just suit her; and there is a year’s living secured at once. I am sorry for that woman, Renton. I am more sorry for her than I can tell,’ cried the R.A., with unquestionable emotion in his voice. ‘Sorry for--the padrona?’ cried Laurie, half laughing, half angry. He would have liked to have knocked down the man who presumed,--and yet to be sorry for that hopeful, dauntless woman, so full of life, and strength, and energy, seemed too good a joke. ‘Yes, sorry for her,’ said Mr. Welby, severely, ‘though you don’t know what I mean, of course. She is at her best now, and I suppose she is making a good deal of money; but look at her principles, sir. Her principles are,--you need not contradict me, I know her better than you do,--never to shut her heart nor her purse against anybody she can help. What kind of an idea is that, I ask you, for this world? Of course, she can’t lay by a penny; and when the fellows in the newspapers begin to say of her as they say already of me----’ ‘But you!’ cried Laurie, ‘you----’ and then he stopped, not knowing how to end his sentence.