d such a habit now of going to see her of a Sunday
afternoon that he was angry when she went out of town. This occurred
often, as the couple were great visitors and the Colonel was always
looking for sport, which he liked best when it could be had at other
people's expense. Lyon would have supposed that this sort of life was
particularly little to her taste, for he had an idea that it was in
country-houses that her husband came out strongest. To let him go off
without her, not to see him expose himself--that ought properly to have
been a relief and a luxury to her. She told Lyon in fact that she
preferred staying at home; but she neglected to say it was because in
other people's houses she was on the rack: the reason she gave was that
she liked so to be with the child. It was not perhaps criminal to draw
such a bow, but it was vulgar: poor Lyon was delighted when he arrived
at that formula. Certainly some day too he would cross the line--he
would become a noxious animal. Yes, in the meantime he was vulgar, in
spite of his talents, his fine person, his impunity. Twice, by
exception, toward the end of the winter, when he left town for a few
days' hunting, his wife remained at home. Lyon had not yet reached the
point of asking himself whether the desire not to miss two of his visits
had something to do with her immobility. That inquiry would perhaps have
been more in place later, when he began to paint the child and she
always came with her. But it was not in her to give the wrong name, to
pretend, and Lyon could see that she had the maternal passion, in spite
of the bad blood in the little girl's veins.

She came inveterately, though Lyon multiplied the sittings: Amy was
never entrusted to the governess or the maid. He had knocked off poor
old Sir David in ten days, but the portrait of the simple-faced child
bade fair to stretch over into the following year. He asked for sitting
after sitting, and it would have struck any one who might have witnessed
the affair that he was wearing the little girl out. He knew better
however and Mrs. Capadose also knew: they were present together at the
long intermissions he gave her, when she left her pose and roamed about
the great studio, amusing herself with its curiosities, playing with the
old draperies and costumes, having unlimited leave to handle. Then her
mother and Mr. Lyon sat and talked; he laid aside his brushes and leaned
back in his chair; he always gave her tea. What Mrs. C