A total want of thought in the rendering of the subject,
disguised under dexterous technical tricks of the brush. When you have
seen one of that man's pictures, you have seen all. He manufactures--he
doesn't paint."
Father Benwell came in while Romayne was speaking. He went through the
ceremonies of introduction to the master of Vange Abbey with perfect
politeness, but a little absently. His mind was bent on putting his
suspicion of Stella to the test of confirmation. Not waiting to be
presented, he turned to her with the air of fatherly interest and
chastened admiration which he well knew how to assume in his intercourse
with women.
"May I ask if you agree with Mr. Romayne's estimate of the picture?" he
said, in his gentlest tones.
She had heard of him, and of his position in the house. It was quite
needless for Lady Loring to whisper to her, "Father Benwell, my dear!"
Her antipathy identified him as readily as her sympathy might have
identified a man who had produced a favorable impression on her. "I have
no pretension to be a critic," she answered, with frigid politeness.
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