Seeing Orchardson working under such circumstances struck me as one of the most sad and pitiful things I had ever known. Here was he, one of the greatest painters of the day, still in the prime of life, working against the most horrible odds, and yet sticking to it in a manner everyone must admire and few realise, for he always tried to make light of the situation. He painted his picture of Sir Peter Russell under these circumstances, also the portrait of Miss Fairfax Rhodes. Among his best-known portraits are those of Mrs. Pattison, Sir David Stewart, and Sir Walter Gilbey. Orchardson’s famous picture of four royal generations (called “Windsor Castle, 1897”) was finished in April, 1900, for that year’s Academy. I went one afternoon a week before to have a look at it. The painter and his wife were having tea in the splendid dining-room at Portland Place, and he was thoroughly enjoying his buttered toast after a hard day. “I like sitting at a table for my tea,” he said, “especially since my arm became troublesome, for even now I really cannot balance a cup. Congratulate me, however, for I have discarded my sling to-day after two years.” The man who could not hold a cup could paint a picture. The canvas was enormous—simple and striking. The quiet dignity of Queen Victoria on the left, and the happy little family group of the Prince of Wales, the Duke of York (our present King), and baby Prince, was charming. “A difficult subject,” sighed Orchardson. “It took me months to make up my mind how to tackle it at all. Two black frock-coats and a lady in black seemed impossible, till I insisted on having the child and his white frock to introduce the human interest. For days and days I wandered about Windsor to find a suitable room to paint the group in, and nothing took my fancy till I came to this long corridor. This is a corner just as it stands. The dark cabinet throws out the Queen’s head. The carpet gives warmth. The settee is good colour.” “How very like that chair, on which the Prince has his hand, is to one of your old Empire chairs,” I exclaimed. The great painter laughed. “It is mine. I lent it, you see. They have nothing quite so suitable as mine there, so I just painted in one of my own.” It was only five days before the picture was to go to Burlington House. The Prince of Wales’s—alas, the only portrait he painted of Edward VII—was unfinished; one of the three busts was not even touched, besides many other minor details. “Will you ever be ready?” “Oh dear, yes! I once painted half my Academy picture in the last week. I take a long while thinking and planning, but only a short time actually painting. I shall be ready all right. At any time I rarely paint more than four hours a day, often only two; so you see I can accomplish a fair amount with an eight-hours day.”