Felix had at all times a brilliant assurance of manner which was simply the vehicle of his good spirits and his good will; but at present he had a special design, and as he would have admitted that the design was audacious, so he was conscious of having summoned all the arts of conversation to his aid. But he was so far from desiring to offend his visitor that he was rapidly asking himself what personal compliment he could pay the young clergyman that would gratify him most.
If he could think of it, he was prepared to pay it down.
"Have you been preaching one of your beautiful sermons to-day?" he suddenly asked, laying down his palette. This was not what Felix had been trying to think of, but it was a tolerable stop-gap.
Mr. Brand frowned--as much as a man can frown who has very fair, soft eyebrows, and, beneath them, very gentle, tranquil eyes.
"No, I have not preached any sermon to-day. Did you bring me over here for the purpose of making that inquiry?"
Felix saw that he was irritated, and he regretted it immensely; but he had no fear of not being, in the end, agreeable to Mr. Brand.
He looked at him, smiling and laying his hand on his arm.
"No, no, not for that--not for that. I wanted to ask you something;
I wanted to tell you something. I am sure it will interest you very much. Only--as it is something rather private--we had better come into my little studio. I have a western window; we can still see the sunset. Andiamo!" And he gave a little pat to his companion's arm.
He led the way in; Mr. Brand stiffly and softly followed.
The twilight had thickened in the little studio; but the wall opposite the western window was covered with a deep pink flush.
There were a great many sketches and half-finished canvasses suspended in this rosy glow, and the corners of the room were vague and dusky. Felix begged Mr. Brand to sit down; then glancing round him, "By Jove, how pretty it looks!" he cried. But Mr. Brand would not sit down; he went and leaned against the window; he wondered what Felix wanted of him.