Edward Phillips Oppenheim

“ Wrayson looked as he felt, dissatisfied.
"Look here," he said, "I'm not asking for your confidence. I'm simply asking you to explain why the sight of that young lady should be a matter of emotion to you. You know who she is, I am convinced. What else?"
Duncan shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You may trust me or not, as you like. All I can say about myself is this. I've been up against it hard—very hard. So far as regards the ordinary affairs of life I simply don't count. I'm a negation—a purely subjective personage. ”

“ Wrayson answered.
"Every one is fundamentally an artist, I suppose, who is capable of appreciating a work of beauty."
Duncan smiled slightly to himself. So far he had not spoken.
"It is all new country to me," the newcomer continued, "but from what I have seen of it, I should think it a grand place for painters. Not much for the ordinary tourist, eh?"
"That depends," Wrayson answered, "upon the ordinary tourist."
"Exactly! Quite so!" the little man agreed. "Of course, if one wanted a quiet time, what could be better than this? There must be others who think so besides yourselves." ”

“ He has not the staff to deal with them."
"It is a pity," the little man said dejectedly. "I think that I must try again in the village. By the by, sir, perhaps you can tell me to whom the château there belongs?" ”