examining glances; he looked to me like a man who has an object, a mission; who is spying out the land; endeavouring to get at a discovery. That he had some purpose in view I was sure, but I said nothing to Parslewe and Madrasia. Just then we had a more pertinent and interesting matter to discuss.
Parslewe wanted me to stay there a while and to paint a landscape for him. He had a favourite view, near the house, and was keenly anxious that somebody should do justice to it—moreover, he wanted the picture to he painted in the freshness of springtide, though my own private inclination would have led me to paint it in the autumn. And he had offered me a handsome price for it, agreeing, too, that I should be allowed to submit it for the next Royal Academy exhibition. I was by no means unwilling to accept his offer, for apart from the advantages of the commission, the work meant spending at least a month or six weeks at Kelpieshaw—in the society of Madrasia. And I had already fallen in love with Madrasia.
We settled the affair of the picture over that tea-table. I decided to start on it at once,
