Could you come and lunch with me here, on Sunday, alone, like the old days?
I have a portrait to show you." So on Sunday, Warburton went to his friend's new studio, which was in the Holland Park region.

Formerly it was always he who played the host, and he did not like this change of positions; but Franks, however sensible of his good luck, and inclined at times to take himself rather seriously, had no touch of the snob in his temper; when with him, Will generally lost sight of unpleasant things in good-natured amusement.
To-day, however, grocerdom lay heavily on his soul.

On the return journey from St.Neots he had caught a cold, and a week of sore throat behind the counter--a week too, of quarrel with a wholesale house which had been cheating him--left his nerves in a bad state.

For reply to the artist's cordial greeting he could only growl inarticulately.
"Out of sorts ?" asked the other, as they entered the large well-warmed studio "You look rather bad." "Leave me alone," muttered Warburton.
"All right.

Sit down here and thaw yourself." But Will's eye had fallen on a great canvas, showing the portrait of a brilliant lady who reclined at ease and caressed the head of a great deer-hound.