“He has need for good temper, sir,” said Mr. Brand, with decision.

Felix jumped up, with his palette on his thumb and a movement of the liveliest deprecation.  “That ’s because I keep you standing there while I splash my red paint!  I beg a thousand pardons!  You see what bad manners Art gives a man; and how right you are to let it alone.  I did n’t mean you should stand, either.  The piazza, as you see, is ornamented with rustic chairs; though indeed I ought to warn you that they have nails in the wrong places.  I was just making a note of that sunset.  I never saw such a blaze of different reds.  It looks as if the Celestial City were in flames, eh?  If that were really the case I suppose it would be the business of you theologians to put out the fire.  Fancy me—­an ungodly artist—­quietly sitting down to paint it!”

Mr. Brand had always credited Felix Young with a certain impudence, but it appeared to him that on this occasion his impudence was so great as to make a special explanation—­or even an apology—­necessary.  And the impression, it must be added, was sufficiently natural.  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.