Red Money | Page 9

of her emotions.
Lambert laughed and looked at his picture with his head on one side,
and a very handsome head it was, as Miss Greeby thought. "It bothered
me until I had it put right, I assure you. But you don't seem pleased
with my crib."
"It's not good enough for you."
"Since when have I been a sybarite, Clara?"
"I mean you ought to think of your position."
"It's too unpleasant to think about," rejoined Lambert, throwing himself
on the couch and producing his pipe. "May I smoke?"
"Yes, and if you have any decent cigarettes I'll join you. Thanks!" She
deftly caught the silver case he threw her. "But your position?"
"Five hundred a year and no occupation, since I have been brought up
to neither trade nor profession," said Lambert leisurely. "Well?"
"You are the heir to a title and to a large property."
"Which is heavily mortgaged. As to the title"--Lambert shrugged his
shoulders--"Garvington's wife may have children."
"I don't think so. They have been married ten years and more. You are
certain to come in for everything."
"Everything consists of nothing," said the artist coolly.
"Well," drawled Miss Greeby, puffing luxuriously at her cigarette,
which was Turkish and soothing, "nothing may turn into something
when these mortgages are cleared off."
"Who is going to clear them off?"
"Sir Hubert Pine."

Lambert's brows contracted, as she knew they would when this name
was mentioned, and he carefully attended to filling his pipe so as to
avoid meeting her hard, inquisitive eyes. "Pine is a man of business,
and if he pays off the mortgages he will take over the property as
security. I don't see that Garvington will be any the better off in that
case."
"Lambert," said Miss Greeby very decidedly, and determined to know
precisely what he felt like, "Garvington only allowed his sister to marry
Sir Hubert because he was rich. I don't know for certain, of course, but
I should think it probable that he made an arrangement with Pine to
have things put straight because of the marriage."
"Possible and probable," said the artist shortly, and wincing; "but old
friend as you are, Clara, I don't see the necessity of talking about
business which does not concern me. Speak to Garvington."
"Agnes concerns you."
"How objectionably direct you are," exclaimed Lambert in a vexed tone.
"And how utterly wrong. Agnes does not concern me in the least. I
loved her, but as she chose to marry Pine, why there's no more to be
said."
"If there was nothing more to be said," observed Miss Greeby shrewdly,
"you would not be burying yourself here."
"Why not? I am fond of nature and art, and my income is not enough to
permit my living decently in London. I had to leave the army because I
was so poor. Garvington has given me this cottage rent free, so I'm
jolly enough with my painting and with Mrs. Tribb as housekeeper and
cook. She's a perfect dream of a cook," ended Lambert thoughtfully.
Miss Greeby shook her red head. "You can't deceive me."
"Who wants to, anyhow?" demanded the man, unconsciously
American.

"You do. You wish to make out that you prefer to camp here instead of
admitting that you would like to be at The Manor because Agnes--"
Lambert jumped up crossly. "Oh, leave Agnes out of the question. She
is Pine's wife, so that settles things. It's no use crying for the moon,
and--"
"Then you still wish for the moon," interpolated the woman quickly.
"Not even you have the right to ask me such a question," replied
Lambert in a quiet and decisive tone. "Let us change the subject."
Miss Greeby pointed to the beautiful face smiling on the easel. "I
advise you to," she said significantly.
"You seem to have come here to give me good advice."
"Which you won't take," she retorted.
"Because it isn't needed."
"A man's a man and a woman's a woman."
"That's as true as taxes, as Mr. Barkis observed, if you are acquainted
with the writings of the late Charles Dickens. Well?"
Again Miss Greeby pointed to the picture. "She's very pretty."
"I shouldn't have painted her otherwise."
"Oh, then the original of that portrait does exist?"
"Could you call it a portrait if an original didn't exist?" demanded the
young man tartly. "Since you want to know so much, you may as well
come to the gypsy encampment on the verge of the wood and satisfy
yourself." He threw on a Panama hat, with a cross look. "Since when
have you come to the conclusion that I need a dry nurse?"
"Oh, don't talk bosh!" said Miss Greeby vigorously, and springing to

her feet. "You take me at the foot of the letter and too seriously.