shoulders.

'The ideas are too lugubrious! And this young fellow--this
Fenwick--where did you pick him up?'

Cuningham explained.

'A character!--perhaps a genius?' said Findon. 'He has a clever,
quarrelsome eye. Unmarried? Good Lord, I hope so, after the way I've
been going on.'

Cuningham laughed. 'We've seen no sign of a wife. But I really know
nothing about him.'

They were entering the upper room, and at sight of the large picture
it contained, Lord Findon exclaimed:

'My goodness!--what an ambitious thing!'

The three men gathered in front of the picture. Fenwick lingered
nervously behind them.

'What do you call it?' said Lord Findon, putting up his glasses.

'The "Genius Loci,"' said Fenwick, fumbling a little with the words.

It represented a young woman seated on the edge of a Westmoreland
ghyll or ravine. Behind her the white water of the beck flowed steeply
down from shelf to shelf; beyond the beck rose far-receding walls of
mountain, purple on purple, blue on blue. Light, scantily nourished