CHAPTER XXX


Weeks passed. Lewis worked steadily at his figure of Vi. From the time
the wires had been set and the rough clay slapped on them, he had never
allowed her to see the figure.

"It's no use asking," he said. "You're no master at this art. The
workman who shows unfinished stuff to anybody but a master is a fool."

"Well, when, then?" asked Vi, impatiently, after weeks had lengthened to
months.

"Almost any day now," said Lewis; but before 'any day' came around,
something happened that materially delayed the satisfaction of Vi's
curiosity.

Lady Derl had frequently drafted Lewis into dinners that she thought
would be stupid for her without him. As a result, the inevitable in
London happened. It became a habit to invite Lewis when Lady Derl was
coming. He never took her in,--her rank and position made that
impossible,--but he was there, somewhere at the lower end of the table,
where she could watch him when she felt bored and occasionally read in
the astonished faces of his neighbors the devastation he had caused by
some remark; for Lewis, like his father, had a way of saying things. The
difference was that Leighton's _mots_ were natural and malicious, while
Lewis's were only natural. On the whole, Lewis created the greater
sensation.