looked so
strangely different. He was very reluctant to be so led about, and, as
it were, patronized by the master of the house, and his repugnance took
a curious form. His nose was slightly drawn up, as if an odour of
something disagreeable had reached him. Ursula, in her innocence,
wondered what it was.

"Here's the Baronet, Clarence," said Mr. Copperhead, who was slightly
flushed; "and he doubts the Turner being genuine. My Turner! Go off at
once to those picture people, Christie, whatever you call them, and tell
them I want proofs that it's genuine. I am not the sort of man, by
George! to be cheated, and they ought to know that. They have had many a
hundred pounds of my money, but they shall never have another penny if I
don't get proofs. It ain't pleasant, I can tell you, to hear the
Baronet, or any one else for that matter, running down my pictures."

"I did not run it down," said Sir Robert, with another little curl of
his nostrils. (What could there be in this grand big house that could
make a disagreeable smell?) "I only said that I had seen copies that
were so wonderfully good that none but an expert could tell the
difference; that was all. I don't say that yours is one of them."

"No; nor no one shall!" cried Mr. Copperhead. "We shall have the
experts, as you call them, and settle it. By George! there shall be
nothing uncertain in my house. You can tell the men it is Sir Robert
Dorset who suggested it. There's nothing like a title (even when it
isn't much of a title) to keep people up to their work. Not meaning any
disrespect to Sir Robert, I could buy him and his up five times over.
But I ain't Sir Robert, and never will be. Say Sir Robert, Clarence, my
boy; that'll bear weight."

"It was an unfortunate observation on my part," said Sir Robert,
stiffly. "I have a picture myself, which I bought for a Correggio, and
which is a mere copy, I believe, though a very nice one. I hold my
tongue on the subject, and nobody is the wiser. Anne, my dear, I think
we must go now."

"That would never suit me," said the rich man; "holding my tongue ain't
my way, is it, Mrs. Copperhead? What! going, after all, without your
tea? I am afraid, ma'am, the Baronet is touchy, and doesn't like what I
said. But nobody minds me, I assure you. I say what I think, but I don't
mean any harm."

"Oh, no," said Anne, drawing herself up, while her father took leave of
poor little tremulous Mrs. Copperhead. "We really must go; we have