Lord Mountry sat down.

'The artist, you know. You remember you said at lunch the other
day you wanted your little boy's portrait painted, as you only had
one of him, aged eleven--'

'This is Ogden, Lord Mountry. I painted this myself.'

His lordship, who had selected a chair that enabled him to present
a shoulder to the painting, and was wearing a slightly dogged look
suggestive of one who 'turns no more his head, because he knows a
frightful fiend doth close behind him tread', forced himself
round, and met his gaze with as much nonchalance as he could
summon up.

'Er, yes,' he said.

He paused.

'Fine manly little fellow--what?' he continued.

'Yes, isn't he?'

His lordship stealthily resumed his former position.

'I recommended this fellow, Stanborough, if you remember. He's a
great pal of mine, and I'd like to give him a leg up if I could.
They tell me he's a topping artist. Don't know much about it
myself. You told me to bring him round here this afternoon, you
remember, to talk things over. He's waiting downstairs.'