led now by an
infinite pity. Not that he had lost sight of what she had done for him;
but now that his eyes were clearer, he saw her as she was, and felt to
the full the pathos of her vanity.

Wyndham's book was severely criticised in Devon Street. One day, about
four months after its appearance, Hardy had returned to the subject
nearest his heart, and was discussing it with Katherine as he sat to
her for his portrait, now nearly finished. He had just pleasantly told
her that he wished he had managed to fall in love with her instead of
with Audrey; she would have made something very different of him--a
remark to which Katherine made no answer, treating it, as Hardy thought,
with the contempt it deserved. Then he broke out, as he had done many a
time before.

"I don't know how it is. When I was away from her, I used to think of
her as a sort of amateur angel leading me on." (Katherine smiled; it was
very evident that Audrey had "led him on.") "When I was with her she
seemed to be a little devil, encouraging everything that was bad in me.
I don't know how she did it; but she did. And yet, Kathy, whatever they
may say, I don't believe she's bad. I don't swear, of course, that she's
a paragon of goodness----"

"Isn't there a medium?"

"But she was a sweet little thing before she met that scoundrel Wyndham.
Wasn't she?"

But Katherine was giving the whole of her attention to Vincent's nose.

"Putting Audrey out of the question, I don't think much of Mr. Langley
Wyndham. I don't like his books; I can't breathe in his stuffy
drawing-rooms. Why can't the fellow open his windows sometimes and let
in a little of God's fresh air? As you know, I believe he's even a
shadier character than I am."

"He hasn't got a character; it's all run to literature."

"H'm--I'm not so sure about that."

Katherine had laid down her brushes, and was examining her work with her
head on one side. "Well, he can't draw a character, anyhow; Laura's
simply impossible."

"I don't know. Laura is Audrey, and Audrey's a funny person."

"I used to think that Audrey wasn't a person--that she was made up of
little bits of people stuck together."

"That's not bad, Sis. She _is_ made up of bits of people stuck
together."

"Yes; but the thing is, what makes them stick? Mr. Wyndham doesn't go
into that, and _that's_ Audrey. His work is clever--too clever by
half--but it's terribly superficial."

Hardy meditated on that saying; then he began again.