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But why an artist? I think you were made for a bank manager, Denis.
Don't look so surprised. Everybody grows up, you know. Shelley, if he
had lived long enough, would have become a passable gentleman farmer.
You can take my word for that."
"I suppose I shall have to," replied the young man.
"Don't take Mr. Keith's word for anything!" said a voice behind his
shoulder.
It was Don Francesco, who had come upon them unawares. He now removed
his hat and began to mop his forehead and various double chins with a
many-tinted handkerchief as large as a tablecloth.
"My dear Don Francesco!" said Keith. "You always interrupt me in the
middle of my sermons. What shall we do with you?"
"Give me something to drink," replied the priest. "Else I shall
evaporate, leaving nothing but a grease stain on this beautiful garden
path."
"To evaporate," said Keith, with a tinge of sadness in his voice. "What
an ideal resolution!"
"I'll get some wine out of the house," suggested Denis politely. "But
first of all tell me this.


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