"Daddy
and I will come another day," Janet went on in reassuring
tones; "but we shall expect buns too, remember."
Then they talked of the crocuses in Kensington Gardens;
and of young Skeene's new play at the Princess's--they
all knew young Skeene, and wished him well; and of
Framley's forthcoming novel--Framley, who had made his
noble reputation by portrait-painting--good old Framley
--how would it go?
"He knows character," Kendal said.
"That's nothing now," retorted Lawrence Cardiff. "Does
he know where it comes from and where it's going to? And
can he choose? And has he the touch? And hasn't he been
too long a Royal Academician and a member of the Church
of England, and a believer in himself? Oh no! Framley
hasn't anything to tell this generation that he couldn't
say best on canvas."
"Well," said Lady Halifax disconcertingly, "I suppose
the carriage is at the door, Lawrence, but you might just
send to inquire. The horses stand so badly, I told Peters
he might take them round and round the square."
Cardiff looked at her with amused reproach, and rang the
bell; and Janet begged somebody or anybody to have another
cup of tea. The Halifaxes always tried Janet.
They went at last, entreating Cardiff, to his annoyance,
not to come down the narrow winding stair with them to
their carriage.
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