‘Is that what people bring home from Italy now-a-days?’ said Albinia.

‘That is an original production.’

‘Did Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy do that?’ cried Lucy.

‘Genre is his style,’ was the reply.  ’His mother was resolved he should be an amateur, and I give his master great credit.’

‘Especially for that not being a Madonna,’ said Albinia.  ’I congratulate you on his having so safe an amusement.’

’Yes; it disposes of him and of the spare room.  He cannot exist without an atelier.’

Just then the Vicar entered.

‘Ah!  Algernon’s picture,’ began he, who had never been known to look at one, except the fat cattle in the Illustrated News.  ’What do you think of it?  Has he not made a good hand of the pitcher?’

Albinia gratified him by owning that the pitcher was round; and Lucy was in perfect rapture at the ‘dear little spots’ in the rhododendron.

‘A poor way of spending a lad’s time,’ said the uncle; ’but it is better than nothing; and I call the knife very good:  I declare you might take it up,’ and he squeezed up his eyes to enhance the illusion.

A slow and wide opening of the door admitted the lofty presence of Algernon Cavendish Dusautoy, with another small picture in his hand.  Becoming aware of the visitors, he saluted them with a dignified movement of his head, and erecting his chin, gazed at them over it.

‘So you have brought us another picture, Algernon,’ said his uncle.  ‘Mrs. Kendal has just been admiring your red jar.’

‘Have you a taste for art?’ demanded Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy, turning to her with magnificent suavity.

‘I used to be very fond of drawing.’

‘Genre is my style,’ he pursued, almost overthrowing her gravity by the original of his aunt’s imitation.  ’I took lessons of old Barbouille—­excellent master.  Truth and nature, those were his maxims; and from the moment I heard them, I said, “This is my man.”  We used positively to live in the Borghese.  There!’ as he walked backwards, after adjusting his production in the best light.

‘A snipe,’ said Albinia.

‘A snipe that I killed in the Pontine marshes.’

‘There is very good shooting about Anxur,’ said Albinia.

‘You have been at Rome?’ He permitted himself a little animation at discovering any one within the pale of civilization.

’For one fortnight in the course of a galloping tour with my two brothers,’ said Albinia.  ‘All the Continent in one long vacation!’

’That was much to be regretted.  It is my maxim to go through every museum thoroughly.’

‘I can’t regret,’ said Albinia.  ’I should be very sorry to give up my bright indistinct haze of glorious memories, though I was too young to appreciate all I saw.’

’For my part, I have grown up among works of art.  My whole existence has been moulded on them, and I feel an inexpressible void without them.  I shall be most happy to introduce you into my atelier, and show you my notes on the various Musees.  I preserved them merely as a trifling memorial; but many connoisseurs have told me that I ought to print them as a Catalogue raisonnee, for private circulation, of course.  I should be sorry to interfere with Murray, but on the whole I decided otherwise:  I should be so much bored with applications.’