He has an impression upon him
that he has lost hold of his temper; feels that Edwin Drood's
coolness, so far from being infectious, makes him red-hot.
Mr. Jasper, still walking in the centre, hand to shoulder on either
side, beautifully turns the Refrain of a drinking song, and they
all go up to his rooms. There, the first object visible, when he
adds the light of a lamp to that of the fire, is the portrait over
the chimneypicce. It is not an object calculated to improve the
understanding between the two young men, as rather awkwardly
reviving the subject of their difference. Accordingly, they both
glance at it consciously, but say nothing. Jasper, however (who
would appear from his conduct to have gained but an imperfect clue
to the cause of their late high words), directly calls attention to
it.
'You recognise that picture, Mr. Neville?' shading the lamp to
throw the light upon it.
'I recognise it, but it is far from flattering the original.'
'O, you are hard upon it! It was done by Ned, who made me a
present of it.'
'I am sorry for that, Mr. Drood.' Neville apologises, with a real
intention to apologise; 'if I had known I was in the artist's
presence--'
'O, a joke, sir, a mere joke,' Edwin cuts in, with a provoking
yawn. 'A little humouring of Pussy's points! I'm going to paint
her gravely, one of these days, if she's good.'
The air of leisurely patronage and indifference with which this is
said, as the speaker throws himself back in a chair and clasps his
hands at the back of his head, as a rest for it, is very
exasperating to the excitable and excited Neville.
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