'
'You had no right to strike the poor thing.'
'In that one respect I was perhaps a little hasty. I happened to
be stirring my tea at the moment his head rose above the edge of
the table. I was not entirely myself that morning. My nerves were
somewhat disordered. I had lain awake much of the night planning a
canvas.'
'Planning a what?'
'A canvas--a picture.'
Lady Wetherby turned to Claire.
'I want you to listen to Algie, Claire. A year ago he did not know
one end of a paint-brush from the other. He didn't know he had any
nerves. If you had brought him the artistic temperament on a plate
with a bit of watercress round it, he wouldn't have recognized it.
And now, just because he's got a studio, he thinks he has a right
to go up in the air if you speak to him suddenly and run about the
place hitting snakes with teaspoons as if he were Michelangelo!'
'You do me an injustice. It is true that as an artist I developed
late--But why should we quarrel? If it will help to pave the way
to a renewed understanding between us, I am prepared to apologize
for striking Clarence. That is conciliatory, I think, Miss
Fenwick?'
'Very.'
'Miss Fenwick considers my attitude conciliatory.'
'It's something,' admitted Lady Wetherby, grudgingly.
Lord Wetherby drained the whisky-and-soda which Dudley Pickering
had left behind him, and seemed to draw strength from it, for he
now struck a firmer note.
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