The Invader
A NOVEL
By
Margaret L. Woods
New York and London
Harper & Brothers Publishers
1907
Copyright, 1907, by Harper & Brothers.
Published May, 1907.
TO
Hilda Greaves
AND THE DUMB COMPANIONS OF TAN-YR-ALLT
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY THEIR
GRATEFUL AND AFFECTIONATE
FRIEND
THE INVADER
CHAPTER I
Dinner was over and the ladies had just risen, when the Professor hadbegged to introduce them to the new-comer on his walls. The Invader, itmight almost have been called, this full-length, life-size portrait,which, in the illumination of a lamp turned full upon it, seemed to takepossession of the small room, to dominate at the end of the polished-oaktable, where the light of shaded candles fell on old blue plates, oldVenetian glass, a bit of old Italian brocade, and chrysanthemums in achina bowl coveted by collectors. Every detail spoke of theconnoisseurship, the refined and personal taste characteristic of Oxfordin the eighties. The authority on art put up his eye-glasses andfingered his tiny forked beard uneasily.
"There's no doubt it's a good thing, Fletcher," he said, presently—"reallyquite good. But it's too like Romney to be Raeburn, and too like Raeburn tobe Romney. You ought to be able to find out the painter, if, as you say,it's a portrait of your own great-grandmother—"[2]
"He did say so!" broke in Sanderson, exultantly. "He said it was anancestress. Fletcher, you're a vulgar fraud. You've got no ancestress.You bought her. There's a sale-ticket still on the frame under theprojection at the right-hand lower corner. I saw it."
Sanderson was a small man and walked about perpetually, except whentaking food: sometimes then. He was a licensed insulter of his friends,and now stood before the picture in a belligerent attitude. TheProfessor stroked his amber beard and smiled down on Sanderson.
"True, O Sanderson; and at the same time untrue. I did buy the picture,and the lady was my great-grandmother once, but she did not like theposition and soon gave it up. This picture must have been done after shehad given it up."
"Is this a conundrum or blather, invented to hide your ignominy in acloud of words?" asked Sanderson.
"It's a hors d'œuvre before the story," interposed Ian Stewart,throwing back his tall dark head and looking up at the picture throughhis eye-glasses, his handsome face alive with interest. "'Tak' awa' thekickshaws,' Fletcher, 'and bring us the cauf.'"
The Professor gathered his full beard in one hand and smileddeprecatingly.
"I don't know how the ladies will like my ex-great-grandmother's story.It was a bit of a scandal at the time."
"Never mind, Mr. Fletcher," cried a young[3] married woman, with a facelike a seraph, "we're all educated now, and scandal about a lady withher waist under her arms becomes simply classical."
"Not so bad as that, Mrs. Shaw, I assure you," returned the Professor;"but I dare say you all know as much as I do about my great-grandmother,for she was the well-known Lady Hammerton."
...