to ring for luncheon. 'The picture has been smashed,' Lyon continued.
'Smashed? Ah, what did you do that for?' Mrs. Capadose asked, standing there before him in all her clear, rich beauty. Now that she looked at him she was impenetrable.
'I didn't—I found it so—with a dozen holes punched in it!'
'I say!' cried the Colonel.
Lyon turned his eyes to him, smiling. I hope you didn't do it?'
'Is it ruined?' the Colonel inquired. He was as brightly true as his wife and he looked simply as if Lyon's question could not be serious. 'For the love of sitting to you? My dear fellow, if I had thought of it I would!'
'Nor you either?' the painter demanded of Mrs. Capadose.
Before she had time to reply her husband had seized her arm, as if a highly suggestive idea had come to him. 'I say, my dear, that woman—that woman!'
'That woman?' Mrs. Capadose repeated; and Lyon too wondered what woman he meant.
'Don't you remember when we came out, she was at the door—or a little way from it? I spoke to you of her—I told you about her. Geraldine—Grenadine—the one who burst in that day,' he explained to Lyon. 'We saw her hanging about—I called Everina's attention to her.'
'Do you mean she got at my picture?'
'Ah yes, I remember,' said Mrs. Capadose, with a sigh.
'She burst in again—she had learned the way—
