was a luxury beyond their reach, for they knew the great prices he
received. Besides, what had they ever done--what above all had _she_
ever done, that he should overload them with benefits? No, he was too
dreadfully good; it was really impossible that Clement should sit. Lyon
listened to her without protest, without interruption, while he bent
forward at his work, and at last he said: 'Well, if you won't take it
why not let him sit for me for my own pleasure and profit? Let it be a
favour, a service I ask of him. It will do me a lot of good to paint him
and the picture will remain in my hands.'

'How will it do you a lot of good?' Mrs. Capadose asked.

'Why, he's such a rare model--such an interesting subject. He has such
an expressive face. It will teach me no end of things.'

'Expressive of what?' said Mrs. Capadose.

'Why, of his nature.'

'And do you want to paint his nature?'

'Of course I do. That's what a great portrait gives you, and I shall
make the Colonel's a great one. It will put me up high. So you see my
request is eminently interested.'

'How can you be higher than you are?'

'Oh, I'm insatiable! Do consent,' said Lyon.

'Well, his nature is very noble,' Mrs. Capadose remarked.

'Ah, trust me, I shall bring it out!' Lyon exclaimed, feeling a little
ashamed of himself.

Mrs. Capadose said before she went away that her husband would probably
comply with his invitation, but she added, 'Nothing would induce me to
let you pry into _me_ that way!'

'Oh, you,' Lyon laughed--'I could do you in the dark!'

The Colonel shortly afterwards placed his leisure at the painter's
disposal and by the end of July had paid him several visits. Lyon was
disappointed neither in the quality of his sitter nor in the degree to
which he himself rose to the occasion; he felt really confident that he
should produce a fine thing. He was in the humour; he was charmed with
his _motif_ and deeply interested in his problem. The only point that
troubled him was the idea that when he should send his picture to the
Academy he should not be able to give the title, for the catalogue,
simply as 'The Liar.' However, it little mattered, for he had now
determined that this character should be perceptible even to the meanest
intelligence--as overtopping as it had become to his own sense in the
living man. As he saw nothing else in the Colonel to-day, so he gave
himself up to the joy of painting nothing else. How he did it he could