David had subsided, and once more began relighting his pipe; he looked up
at the name.

"Frank Seaford--oh, did you? How is he? I haven't seen him for some
time--"

"So I gathered," Peter remarked dryly. "He seems to be getting on very
well since Ringsmith took him up."

"Ah! Ringsmith's right. He's a beautiful--artist. Did you--see--"

Peter interrupted. "I think I've seen all Seaford's work. Anyhow he owes
his recognition entirely to you. I introduced him to Ringsmith entirely
on your recommendation two years ago. He's sold a lot of pictures during
that time. When did you see him last, Saunderson?"

David stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Let me see--some time before the War--it must have been--more than a
year ago."

"Not very grateful," Peter could not help rapping out.

David stopped smoking, and seemed to rouse himself.

"You're quite wrong, Knott. He sent me--that exquisite study--on the wall
yonder." He pointed as he spoke to a small drawing in water colours.

Peter got up, looked at it a moment, and shrugged his shoulders.