He was being influenced by the joy of worldly life, so subtly
presented that he did not even appreciate the need of guarding against
the danger.

His reflections were cut short by the entrance of a servant who
conducted the young men to a private sitting-room up-stairs. The halls
through which they passed were hung with superb old tapestry,
interspersed with magnificent pictures. On the broad landing it was
almost as if the visitors came into the presence of a beautiful woman,
lying naked amid bright cushions in an oriental interior. As he dropped
his eyes from the alluring vision, Maurice saw in the corner the name
of the artist.

"Fenton," he said aloud. "Did he paint that?"

His companion started, regarding the picture with widening eyes. The
English footman, whom Wynne addressed, turned back to say over his
shoulder:--

"Yes, sir; they say it's his best picture, and some says he painted his
best friend's wife that way, with nothing on, sir."

"It is a wicked picture!" Ashe said with what seemed to Maurice
unnecessary emphasis.

The footman regarded the speaker over his shoulder with a smile.

"Oh, that's owin' to your bein' of the cloth, sir," was his comment.
"They don't generally feel to own to likin' it; but they mostly notices
it."