e would be difficult and make a
considerable draft upon his genius, in view of the certain testimony of
Lyon's housekeeper, who had admitted the visitors and would establish
the connection between their presence and the violence wrought. Would
the Colonel proffer some apology or some amends, or would any word from
him be only a further expression of that destructive petulance which our
friend had seen his wife so suddenly and so potently communicate to him?
He would have either to declare that he had not touched the picture or
to admit that he had, and in either case he would have to tell a fine
story. Lyon was impatient for the story and, as no letter came,
disappointed that it was not produced. His impatience however was much
greater in respect to Mrs. Capadose's version, if version there was to
be; for certainly that would be the real test, would show how far she
would go for her husband, on the one side, or for him, Oliver Lyon, on
the other. He could scarcely wait to see what line she would take;
whether she would simply adopt the Colonel's, whatever it might be. He
wanted to draw her out without waiting, to get an idea in advance. He
wrote to her, to this end, from Venice, in the tone of their
established friendship, asking for news, narrating his wanderings,
hoping they should soon meet in town and not saying a word about the
picture. Day followed day, after the time, and he received no answer;
upon which he reflected that she couldn't trust herself to write--was
still too much under the influence of the emotion produced by his
'betrayal.' Her husband had espoused that emotion and she had espoused
the action he had taken in consequence of it, and it was a complete
rupture and everything was at an end. Lyon considered this prospect
rather ruefully, at the same time that he thought it deplorable that
such charming people should have put themselves so grossly in the wrong.
He was at last cheered, though little further enlightened, by the
arrival of a letter, brief but breathing good-humour and hinting neither
at a grievance nor at a bad conscience. The most interesting part of it
to Lyon was the postscript, which consisted of these words: 'I have a
confession to make to you. We were in town for a couple of days, the 1st
of September, and I took the occasion to defy your authority--it was
very bad of me but I couldn't help it. I made Clement take me to your
studio--I wanted so dreadfully to see what you had done with h