ondon would be going to hear her sing. As soon
as there was a break in the stream of carriages I took Lucy across. We
could talk unobserved in the Square, and she continued her story. 'I'm
nearly seventeen,' she said, 'and I was sent back to school because I
sat for a sculpture.'"

"What did you sit for?"

"For a statue of the Blessed Virgin, and a priest told on me."

"Then you're Lucy Delaney, and the sculptor you sat for is John Rodney,
one of my intimate friends."

"What an extraordinary coincidence," said Rodney. "I never thought that
Lucy would stay in Ireland. Go on with your story."

"When I found out who she was there seemed no great harm in asking her
in to have some tea. Asher will forgive you anything if there's a woman
in it; you may keep him waiting half an hour if you assure him your
appointment was with a married woman. Well, Lucy had arrived that
morning in London with threepence in her pocket, so I told the footman
to boil a couple of eggs. I should have liked to have offered her a
substantial meal, but that would have set the servants talking. Never
did a girl eat with a better appetite, and when she had finished a
second plateful of buttered toast she began to notice the pictures. I
could see that she had been in a studio and had talked about art. It is
extraordinary how quick a girl is to acquire the ideas of a man she
likes. She admired Manet's picture of Evelyn, and I told her Evelyn's
story--knowing it would interest her. 'That such a happy fate should be
a woman's and that she should reject it,' her eyes seemed to say. 'She
is now,' I said, 'singing Ave Marias at Wimbledon for the pecuniary
benefit of the nuns and the possible salvation of her own soul.' Her
walk tells the length of the limbs and the balance of the body, and my
eyes followed her as she moved about the room, and when I told her I
had seen the statue and had admired the legs, she turned and said, with
a pretty pleased look, that you always said that she had pretty legs.
When I asked her if you had made love to her, she said you had not,
that you were always too busy with your sculpture."

"One can't think of two things at the same time. If I had met her in
Paris it would have been different."

"Unfortunately I was dining out that evening. It was hard to know what
to do. At last I thought of a lodging-house kept by a praiseworthy
person, and took her round there and, cursing my dinner-party, I left
her in charge of the land