'Oh, you ought to,' she answered. 'It's the best thing.'
'I like that—from you!' he returned.
'Why not from me? I am very happy.'
'That's just why I can't be. It's cruel of you to praise your state. But I have had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your husband. We had a good bit of talk in the other room.'
'You must know him better—you must know him really well,' said Mrs. Capadose.
'I am sure that the further you go the more you find. But he makes a fine show, too.'
She rested her good gray eyes on Lyon. 'Don't you think he's handsome?'
'Handsome and clever and entertaining. You see I'm generous.'
'Yes; you must know him well,' Mrs. Capadose repeated.
'He has seen a great deal of life,' said her companion.
'Yes, we have been in so many places. You must see my little girl. She is nine years old—she's too beautiful.'
'You must bring her to my studio some day—I should like to paint her.'
'Ah, don't speak of that,' said Mrs. Capadose. 'It reminds me of something so distressing.'
'I hope you don't mean when you used to sit to me—though that may well have bored you.'
'It's not what you did—it's what we have done. It's a confession I must make—it's a weight on my mind! I mean about that beautiful picture you gave me—it used to be so much admired. When you come to see me in London (I count on your
