ings, Louis.
Glad I saw that dream of a peacherino, too. What is she on the side? An
actorine? If she is I'll take a box for the rest of the season including
the road and one-night stands.... Good-bye, Mrs. Collis! Good-bye,
Stephanie! _Good_-bye, Louis!--I'll come and spend the day with you when
you're too busy to see me. Now, Stephanie, child! It's the Stock
Exchange or the Little Church around the Corner for you and me, if you
say so!"

Stephanie had duties at a different sort of an Exchange; and she also
took her leave, thanking Neville warmly for the pleasure she had had,
and promising to lunch with Lily at the Continental Club.

When they had departed, Lily said:

"I suppose that is a portrait of your model, Valerie West."

"Yes," he replied shortly.

"Well, Louis, it is perfectly absurd of you to show so plainly that you
consider our discovery of it a desecration."

He turned red with surprise and irritation:

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean exactly what I say. You showed by your expression and your
manner that our inspection of the picture and our questions and comments
concerning it were unwelcome."

"I'm sorry I showed it.... But they _were_ unwelcome."

"Will you tell me why?"

"I don't think I know exactly why--unless the portrait was a personal
and private affair concerning only myself--"

"Louis! Has it gone as far as that?"

"As far as what? What on earth are you trying to say, Lily?"

"I'm trying to say--as nicely and as gently as I can--that your
behaviour--in regard to this girl is making us all perfectly wretched."

"Who do you mean by 'us all'?" he demanded sullenly.

"Father and mother and myself. You must have known perfectly well that
father would write to me about what you told him at Spindrift House a
month ago."

"Did he?"

"Of course he did, Louis! Mother is simply worrying herself ill over
you; father is incredulous--at least he pretends to be; but he has
written me twice on the subject--and I think you might just as well be
told what anxiety and unhappiness your fascination for this girl is
causing us all."

Mrs. Collis was leaning far forward in her chair, forgetful of her pose;
Neville stood silent, head lowered, absently mixing tints upon his
palette without regard to the work under way.

When he had almost covered his palette with useless squares of colour he
picked up a palette-knife, scraped it clean, smeared the residue on a
handful of rags, laid asid