her if, meanwhile, she should
object to his investing a part of his ill-gotten gains in theatre
tickets for the party that evening.

It appeared that Stanwell had also been paid in advance, and well paid;
for he began to permit himself various mild distractions, in which he
generally contrived to have the Arrans share. It seemed perfectly
natural to Kate that Caspar's friends should spend their money for his
recreation, and by one of the most touching sophistries of her sex she
thus reconciled herself to the anomaly of taking a little pleasure on
her own account. Mungold was less often in the way, for she had never
been able to forgive him for proposing that Caspar should do Mrs.
Millington's Cupids; and for a few radiant weeks Stanwell had the
undisputed enjoyment of her pride in her brother's achievement.

Stanwell had "rushed through" Mrs. Millington's portrait in time for
the opening of her new ball-room; and it was perhaps in return for this
favour that she consented to let the picture be exhibited at a big
Portrait Show which was held in April for the benefit of a fashionable
charity.

In Mrs. Millington's ball-room the picture had been seen and approved
only by the distinguished few who had access to that social sanctuary;
but on the walls of the exhibition it became a centre of comment and
discussion. One of the immediate results of this publicity was a visit
from Shepson, with two or three orders in his pocket, as he put it. He
surveyed the studio with fresh disgust, asked Stanwell why he did not
move, and was impressed rather than downcast on learning that the
painter had not decided whether he would take any more orders that
spring.

"You might haf a studio at Newport," he suggested. "It would be rather
new to do your sitters out of doors, with the sea behind them--showing
they had a blace on the gliffs!"

The picture produced a different and less flattering effect on the
critics. They gave it, indeed, more space than they had ever before
accorded to the artist's efforts, but their estimate seemed to confirm
Caspar Arran's forebodings, and Stanwell had perhaps never despised
them so little as when he read their comments on his work. On the
whole, however, neither praise nor blame disquieted him greatly. He was
engrossed in the contemplation of Kate Arran's happiness, and basking
in the refracted warmth it shed about her. The doctor's
prognostications had come true. Caspar was putting on a pound a week,