Page 3 of A Question of Character

“They appear determined to remind the observer that they are clouds.”

Mrs. Gardiner laughed softly. “That is an exceedingly Elizabeth criticism.”

“I hope it is not an unjust one.” Elizabeth leaned closer to examine the painting.

“I shall leave that for the Academy to determine.”

They continued onward.

Elizabeth lingered wherever a painting rewarded close inspection. Portraits interested her less than landscapes, though one family group amused her because the youngest child had plainly tired of sitting long before the artist completed his work. The expression upon his face suggested patient misery.

She smiled to herself.

After some time, Mr. Gardiner was drawn toward a marine scene by another gentleman he recognized. Mrs. Gardiner accompanied him, promising they would meet again in the adjoining gallery.

Elizabeth nodded absently. She had already discovered another painting.

This one portrayed an ancient oak standing alone upon a rise, its branches bent by years of weather yet stubbornly alive.

The longer she examined it, the more she admired its restraint.

Nothing dramatic intruded. No ruined abbey. No distant castle. A solitary tree beneath a pale spring sky.

“It is remarkable,” said a gentleman nearby, “how often simplicity is mistaken for a lack of ambition.”

Elizabeth turned.

The speaker stood a respectful distance away, his attention still fixed upon the painting rather than upon her.

He was tall, elegantly dressed without appearing conscious of it, and possessed a countenance more thoughtful than severe. There was nothing in his manner to suggest he had addressed the remark to her in particular; indeed, he seemed to have spoken it aloud to himself.

“I was thinking something very similar,” she replied. “Though I had not yet found the right words.”

Only then did he turn toward her, seeming faintly surprised to discover he had company.

“I beg your pardon. I did not realize I had spoken aloud.”

“You have nothing for which to apologize. I was admiring the same painting.”

His expression relaxed.

“Then I am glad I interrupted your reflections rather than your solitude.”

“I cannot claim the latter for very long. My aunt and uncle have misplaced me temporarily.”

“That is fortunate. I should dislike to be responsible for separating families in so respectable a place.”

She laughed.

“I daresay they will recover me before long.”

“I hope so, for your sake. Though I confess I should regret the interruption of our discussion.”

“So soon?”

“I have found very few people willing to defend an unfashionable painting.”

Elizabeth glanced back at the canvas.