” “Cooped up!” he cried. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Her lips parted, but no words came. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. “It may be more difficult than you think,” she said. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day.
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