PART II

"Ce fut un beau souper, ruisselant de surprises."

-THÉODORE DE BANVILLE: Odes Funambulesques.

I

I Do not know how it was, but after the clock had struck six at the Grafton Gallery on the day of the private view, I found myself there still, in deserted rooms. The last private-viewer had gone; the directors and secretaries and assistants and collaborators had shaken hands and departed rejoicing; even the hall porter, after having locked and bolted the front door, had disappeared.

I cannot say how long I brooded over this unexpected derangement of my plans, but presumably for some time; for all at once I became aware that the rooms were dark, and that I was alone without any knowledge of where the electric light could be turned on, if electric light there were; alone, without even a match.

The situation to some extent resembled that of Don Juan when he found himself in the Sultan's harem at Stamboul. But then, though I too was surrounded by a superfluity of Fair Women, there was a marked distinction. Besides, even if the ladies were alive, or if any one could come to life at the touch of a mortal hand, it was profoundly dark, and I might touch the wrong person. On canvas I had much admired the technical presentment of certain dames with whom, however, it would be no pleasure to have a further acquaintanceship. Maria Voogt Claasdr, for example, or Cornelis Janssen's fair Hollander.

I was uncertain even in what room I stood: but, strange to say, was conscious of the fact that the portraits had become actualised, were alive. Had I realised that I was in the Centre Room I might have found my way to a friendly picture with whom (it would be rude to say "which") I might have had some interesting conversation. But I think I dreaded

Maria Voogt Claasdr, or Queen Elizabeth as "Diana," or even the fair but too impulsive Jane Elizabeth Digby.

All perplexity, however, was speedily solved. In a moment there was a brilliant illumination. Obviously this was no kindly consideration

on the part of the returned porter, for the glow was entirely diffused from the light in innumerable beautiful eyes, and from the gleam of jewels upon white arms and breasts. I saw then, to my bewilderment, that I was not in the Octagon Room, but in the Centre Gallery. It was with only vague curiosity, however, I noted the great enlargement of this room, both in width and length. All the bric-à-brac cases had been removed, and a small company of ladies was moving to and fro, chatting and laughing.

There was no mistaking H.M. the Queen, as Von Angeli had painted her. I made an obeisance, and again to the beautiful, wistful-eyed Princess Alix, but was less ready with a lady who at that moment stepped down from frame No. 103. As she seemed somewhat perturbed at my not at once bowing low before her, I looked to see who she was, and discovered her an early Richmond, and no other than the future Queen of England. "I had always thought the Princess beautiful as well as distinguished," I murmured to myself in excuse.

At first it looked as though all the ladies in the room had come down from their frames; but soon I saw this was not so, and that I was assisting at a gathering of modern paintings only. With a start of surprise I noticed there were a few gentlemen present, among whom were Sir Frederick Leighton and several of his confrères, including M. Boldini from Paris; though this was nothing compared with my astonishment when I became aware of the charming unconventionality that prevailed. Every lady appeared exactly as she was painted, and no one seemed astonished at any informality. In fact, there was no embarrassment even among the gentlemen, except in three instances. Mr. Calderon looked confused and very uneasy when Aphrodite advanced towards him laughingly, and begged him to run and fetch a towel, as she was still dripping from her delightful dip in the Ionian sea. Mr. Poynter distinctly flushed when, hearing some one calling to him, he glanced round, and perceived the pretty young girl, clothed only with a fan, whom he had painted as High Noon. She had perched herself on the top of a heavy frame, in lieu of the rocks whence she indolently crawled. As for the President, I noted that he avoided the corner where the lady of the Frigidarium stood calmly inspecting her reflection in the bath-water; indeed, he did not at any time seem anxious to meet even his beautiful

Corinna of Tanagra. Probably they had had some slight disagreement in the studio concerning the length of her eyelashes or certain details of her dress.

However, I understood how one might prefer new acquaintances. There were several ladies whom I had met before, but towards whom my ardour had cooled. So far back as twelve years ago I remembered having