ndignant, had at last
yielded--probably in order to avoid another _tete-a-tete_ and another
scene with the little, impetuous lady, and now the Duchess had her safe
and was endeavoring to amuse her.

But it was not easy. Julie, generally so instructed and sympathetic, so
well skilled in the difficult art of seeing pictures with a friend,
might, to-day, never have turned a phrase upon a Constable or a Romney
before. She tried, indeed, to turn them as usual; but the Duchess,
sharply critical and attentive where her beloved Julie was concerned,
perceived the difference acutely! Alack, what languor, what fatigue!
Evelyn became more and more conscious of an inward consternation.

"But, thank goodness, he goes to-morrow--the villain! And when that's
over, it will be all right."

Julie, meanwhile, knew that she was observed, divined, and pitied. Her
pride revolted, but it could wring from her nothing better than a
passive resistance. She could prevent Evelyn from expressing her
thoughts; she could not so command her own bodily frame that the Duchess
should not think. Days of moral and mental struggle, nights of waking,
combined with the serious and sustained effort of a new profession, had
left their mark. There are, moreover, certain wounds to self-love and
self-respect which poison the whole being.

"Julie! you _must_ have a holiday!" cried the Duchess, presently, as
they sat down to rest.

Julie replied that she, Madame Bornier, and the child were going to
Bruges for a week.

"Oh, but that won't be comfortable enough! I'm sure I could arrange
something. Think of all our tiresome houses--eating their heads off!"

Julie firmly refused. She was going to renew old friendships at Bruges;
she would be made much of; and the prospect was as pleasant as any one
need wish.

"Well, of course, if you have made up your mind. When do you go?"

"In three or four days--just before the Easter rush. And you?"

"Oh, we go to Scotland to fish. We must, of course, be killing
something. How long, darling, will you be away?"

"About ten days." Julie pressed the Duchess's little hand in
acknowledgment of the caressing word and look.

"By-the-way, didn't Lord Lackington invite you? Ah, there he is!"

And suddenly, Lord Lackington, examining with fury a picture of his own
which some rascally critic had that morning pronounced to be "Venetian
school" and not the divine Giorgione himself, lifted an angry
countenance to find the Duchess