Sir Charles laughed at the trouble Trefusis took to prove his case, and said soothingly, “My dear fellow, kings are used to it, and expect it, and like it.”

“And probably do not see themselves as I see them, any more than common people do,” assented Trefusis.

“What an exquisite face!” exclaimed Erskine suddenly, catching sight of a photograph in a rich gold and coral frame on a miniature easel draped with ruby velvet.  Trefusis turned quickly, so evidently gratified that Sir Charles hastened to say, “Charming!” Then, looking at the portrait, he added, as if a little startled, “It certainly is an extraordinarily attractive face.”

“Years ago,” said Trefusis, “when I saw that face for the first time, I felt as you feel now.”

Silence ensued, the two visitors looking at the portrait, Trefusis looking at them.

“Curious style of beauty,” said Sir Charles at last, not quite so assuredly as before.

Trefusis laughed unpleasantly.  “Do you recognize the artist—­the enthusiastic amateur—­in her?” he said, opening another drawer and taking out a bundle of drawings, which he handed to be examined.

“Very clever.  Very clever indeed,” said Sir Charles.  “I should like to meet the lady.”

“I have often been on the point of burning them,” said Trefusis; “but there they are, and there they are likely to remain.  The portrait has been much admired.”

“Can you give us an introduction to the original, old fellow?” said Erskine.

“No, happily.  She is dead.”

Disagreeably shocked, they looked at him for a moment with aversion.  Then Erskine, turning with pity and disappointment to the picture, said, “Poor girl!  Was she married?”

“Yes.  To me.”

“Mrs. Trefusis!” exclaimed Sir Charles.  “Ah!  Dear me!”

Erskine, with proof before him that it was possible for a beautiful girl to accept Trefusis, said nothing.

“I keep her portrait constantly before me to correct my natural amativeness.  I fell in love with her and married her.  I have fallen in love once or twice since but a glance at my lost Hetty has cured me of the slightest inclination to marry.”

Sir Charles did not reply.  It occurred to him that Lady Brandon’s portrait, if nothing else were left of her, might be useful in the same way.

“Come, you will marry again one of these days,” said Erskine, in a forced tone of encouragement.

“It is possible.  Men should marry, especially rich men.  But I assure you I have no present intention of doing so.”

Erskine’s color deepened, and he moved away to the table where the albums lay.

“This is the collection of photographs I spoke of,” said Trefusis, following him and opening one of the books.  “I took many of them myself under great difficulties with regard to light—­the only difficulty that money could not always remove.  This is a view of my father’s house—­or rather one of his houses.  It cost seventy-five thousand pounds.”