“Dear friend,” she said, “do you not think that you are breaking an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day.
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