to return the
compliment--a magnificent old vase.'

'That was more than the thing was worth,' Lyon remarked.

Colonel Capadose gave no heed to this observation; he seemed to be
thinking of something. After a moment he said, 'If you'll come and see
us in town she'll show you the vase.' And as they passed into the
drawing-room he gave the artist a friendly propulsion. 'Go and speak to
her; there she is--she'll be delighted.'

Oliver Lyon took but a few steps into the wide saloon; he stood there a
moment looking at the bright composition of the lamplit group of fair
women, the single figures, the great setting of white and gold, the
panels of old damask, in the centre of each of which was a single
celebrated picture. There was a subdued lustre in the scene and an air
as of the shining trains of dresses tumbled over the carpet. At the
furthest end of the room sat Mrs. Capadose, rather isolated; she was on
a small sofa, with an empty place beside her. Lyon could not flatter
himself she had been keeping it for him; her failure to respond to his
recognition at table contradicted that, but he felt an extreme desire to
go and occupy it. Moreover he had her husband's sanction; so he crossed
the room, stepping over the tails of gowns, and stood before his old
friend.

'I hope you don't mean to repudiate me,' he said.

She looked up at him with an expression of unalloyed pleasure. 'I am so
glad to see you. I was delighted when I heard you were coming.'

'I tried to get a smile from you at dinner--but I couldn't.'

'I didn't see--I didn't understand. Besides, I hate smirking and
telegraphing. Also I'm very shy--you won't have forgotten that. Now we
can communicate comfortably.' And she made a better place for him on the
little sofa. He sat down and they had a talk that he enjoyed, while the
reason for which he used to like her so came back to him, as well as a
good deal of the very same old liking. She was still the least spoiled
beauty he had ever seen, with an absence of coquetry or any insinuating
art that seemed almost like an omitted faculty; there were moments when
she struck her interlocutor as some fine creature from an asylum--a
surprising deaf-mute or one of the operative blind. Her noble pagan head
gave her privileges that she neglected, and when people were admiring
her brow she was wondering whether there were a good fire in her
bedroom. She was simple, kind and good; inexpressive but not inhuman or
stupid. Now