style="font-size:15px;"> "Oh, hold your tongue, you are incorrigible!" said Dora, laughing.
Philip saw that it was time to put a stop to the conversation that threatened to get too heated, and proposed a smoke in the studio. Dora did not go with them; she made a solemn bow to Lorimer; and all three burst out laughing and separated the best of friends.
Philip and Lorimer lit their cigars, the latter without taking his eyes off the portrait of Dora, which he thought a splendid likeness and perfect in colouring and modelling.
"Ah, my dear friend, what a wife you have! What a companion for an artist! Upon my word, if I were married to such a woman, I believe I could write masterpieces."
Philip hardly heeded him. He paced up and down the studio, looking at the clock, then at the door, and starting at every sound he heard in the street.
"I should like to gain the world, to lay it at the feet of this woman," said he, standing before the portrait a moment. Philip felt more and more agitated. Lorimer looked at him fixedly.
"Why, old fellow, what on earth is the matter with you?"
"My dear Lorimer," answered Philip, who could conceal his feelings no longer, "you see me to-day in an indescribable state of excitement. In a few moments, I may hear that I am a rich man."
"You don't say so," said Lorimer, amazed; "an old uncle about to depart this life?"
"No," said Philip; "my work, my very own work is perhaps on the point of making me wealthy. For months past, night and day so to speak, I have been working" …
"At a great picture," interrupted Lorimer.
"At an invention."
"Nonsense! take care. You will die in the workhouse."
"Not at all, old fellow," said Philip; "there are two kinds of inventors, those who seek and those who discover. I have discovered."
"What have you discovered, dear friend?" said Lorimer, more and more surprised.
"A shell that may revolutionise the art of warfare. A Special Commission is now sitting at the War Office in Paris, to discuss its merits. I am awaiting their decision. I shall get a telegram to-day, perhaps in a few moments. I offered my shell to the English Government, but they declined it."
"Are you speaking seriously?"
"Do I look as if I were joking? Can't you see, man, I'm in such a fever of impatience, that I can't hold a brush, my hand is trembling so? I have neither the courage nor the strength to finish this portrait, which only requires about an hour's work. But not a word to Dora on the subject; she knows nothing about it yet, and never will, if the affair falls through."
A violent ringing was heard at the studio bell.
"There," said Philip, "that is it perhaps … the telegram at last." And he ran to open the door himself.
He returned accompanied by a big man, pompous and shiny, who entered the studio with a majestic step. Bald, chubby-faced, with a huge nose that divided his face in two, as the Apennines divide Italy, and two large round eyes set lobster-fashion, he was, with his huge white waistcoat, a fair example of a certain type of city merchant, in all his glory. This pretentious personage cast a look into every corner of the studio.
"Plague take the bore," said Philip to Lorimer.
"I'll be off," said Lorimer.
"Oh no, please stay. Sir Benjamin Pond's visit won't last long."
"Ah, ah," said the big City alderman; "you received my note, in which I announced my visit?"
Philip made a sign in the affirmative. Sir Benjamin placed his hat on a table and, rubbing his hands, threw a condescending glance at Philip, which seemed to say, "You ought to be proud to have a visit from me." He took stock of the furniture in detail.
"Very cosy here; very comfortable quarters indeed. You are evidently doing well. One is constantly hearing of artists who live on buns in garrets … upon my word, I don't know any such inviting and attractive houses as those inhabited by artists, and I flatter myself I know them all."
"Painters surround themselves with a certain artistic luxury, as a means of inspiration," said Philip; "and then, Sir Benjamin," added he, laughing, "I don't see why all the good things of this life should be for the fools. Pray, take a seat."
"Thanks," said the patron of arts … "I came" …
"To arrange for a portrait?"
"No, no, not a portrait. Now I hope I shan't offend you by saying so, but I really don't care for portraits in oil. You may say what you like, but, to have a perfect likeness, give me a good coloured photograph. That's my tackle. For fancy portraits, very good, but otherwise" …
"It sounds promising," thought Lorimer, who took up his position near the window, to enjoy the fun.
"The moment a process is discovered for photographing colour as well as lines and shade," continued Sir Benjamin, "nobody will want a painted portrait. For a portrait, you don't want imagination, you want truth, sir, real truth, an exact reproduction of the original."
"Some people prefer Madame Tussaud's Exhibition to the Louvre or the British Museum," said Lorimer.
The City alderman turned round and looked at him, and Philip introduced them to each other.
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