if he had ever heard the name of Melville as
a painter, but in vain. Kenelm, however, knew but little of painters:
they were not in his way; and he owned to himself, very humbly, that
there might be many a living painter of eminent renown whose name and
works would be strange to him.

He glanced round the wall; Lily interpreted his look. "There are no
pictures of his here," said she; "there is one in my own room. I will
show it you when you come again."

"And now," said Mr. Braefield, rising, "I must just have a word with
your gardener, and then go home. We dine earlier here than in London,
Mr. Chillingly."

As the two gentlemen, after taking leave, re-entered the hall, Lily
followed them and said to Kenelm, "What time will you come to-morrow to
see the picture?"

Kenelm averted his head, and then replied, not with his wonted courtesy,
but briefly and brusquely,--

"I fear I cannot call to-morrow. I shall be far away by sunrise."

Lily made no answer, but turned back into the room.

Mr. Braefield found the gardener watering a flower-border, conferred
with him about the heart's-ease, and then joined Kenelm, who had halted
a few yards beyond the garden-gate.

"A pretty little place that," said Mr. Braefield, with a sort of lordly
compassion, as became the owner of Braefieldville. "What I call quaint."

"Yes, quaint," echoed Kenelm, abstractedly.

"It is always the case with houses enlarged by degrees. I have heard my
poor mother say that when Melville or Mrs. Cameron first bought it, it
was little better than a mere labourer's cottage, with a field attached
to it. And two or three years afterwards a room or so more was built,
and a bit of the field taken in for a garden; and then by degrees the
whole part now inhabited by the family was built, leaving only the old
cottage as a scullery and washhouse; and the whole field was turned
into the garden, as you see. But whether it was Melville's money or the
aunt's that did it, I don't know. More likely the aunt's. I don't see
what interest Melville has in the place: he does not go there often, I
fancy; it is not his home."

"Mr. Melville, it seems, is a painter, and, from what I heard you say, a
successful one."

"I fancy he had little success before this year. But surely you saw his
pictures at the Exhibition?"

"I am ashamed to say I have not been to the Exhibition."

"You surprise me. However, Melville had three pictures there,--all very
good; but the one