prepared to allow me any amount." Mr. Bender, out of his abundance, evoked as by a suggestive hand this contributory figure. "A young, spare, nervous gentleman with eyeglasses—I guess he's an author. A friend of yours too?" he asked of Lord John.
The answer was prompt and emphatic. "No, the gentleman is no friend at all of mine, Mr. Bender."
"A friend of my daughter's," Lord Theign easily explained. "I hope they're looking after him."
"Oh, they took care he had tea and bread and butter to any extent; and were so good as to move something," Mr. Bender conscientiously added, "so that he could get up on a chair and see straight into the Moretto."
This was a touch, however, that appeared to affect Lord John unfavourably. "Up on a chair? I say!"
Mr. Bender took another view. "Why, I got right up myself—a little more and I'd almost have begun to paw it! He got me quite interested"—the proprietor of the picture would perhaps care to know—"in that Moretto." And it was on these lines that Mr.
