f
tea. 'And I am quite jealous. Sir William, only Sir William, has been
allowed to see the exhibition picture.'

'What does that portend?' I said, thoughtfully.

'I don't know. Sir William was here yesterday simply swelling with his
impression of it. He says it's the finest thing that has been done in
India. I told you he would conquer them.'

'You did,' and without thinking I added, 'I hope you won't be sorry that
you asked him to.' It must have been an inspiration.

Armour, those weeks before the exhibition, seemed invisible. Dora
reported him torn with the incapacity of the bazaar frame-maker to
follow a design, and otherwise excessively occupied, and there was no
lack of demands upon my own time. Besides, my ardour to be of assistance
to the young man found a slight damper in the fact that he was staying
with Sir William Lamb. What competence had I to be of use to the guest
of Sir William Lamb?

'I do not for a moment think he will be there,' said Dora, on the day
of the private view as we went along the Mall towards the Town Hall
together. 'He will not run with an open mouth to his success. He will
take it from us later.'

But he was there. We entered precisely at the dramatic moment of his
presentation by Sir William Lamb to the Viceroy. He stood embarrassed
and smiling in a little circle of compliments and congratulation. Behind
him and a little to the left hung his picture, large and predominant,
and in the corner of the frame was stuck the red ticket that signified
the Viceroy's gold medal. We saw that, I think, before we saw anything
else. Then with as little haste as was decent, considering His
Excellency's proximity, we walked within range of the picture.

I am not particularly pleased, even now, to have the task of describing
the thing. Its subject was an old Mahomedan priest with a green turban
and a white beard exhorting a rabble of followers. I heard myself saying
to Dora that it was very well painted indeed, very conscientiously
painted, and that is certainly what struck me. The expression of the
fire-eater's face was extremely characteristic; his arm was flung
out with a gesture that perfectly matched. The group of listeners was
carefully composed and most 'naturally'; that is the only word that
would come to me.

I glanced almost timidly at Dora. She was regarding it with a deep
vertical line between her handsome brows.

'What--on earth--has he done with himself?' she demanded, but before I