“So you might, dear,” said Addie boldly, and smiled into his eyes to temper her audacity.

“Ah, well, I think it’ll be quite enough if you change your name,” he said, smiling back.

“It’s just as easy for me to change it to Abrahams as to Graham,” she said with charming obstinacy.

He contemplated her for some moments in silence, with a whimsical look on his face.  Then he looked up at the sky—­the brilliant color harmonies were deepening into a more sober magnificence.

“I’ll tell you what I will do.  Ill join the Asmoneans.  There! that’s a great concession to your absurd prejudices.  But you must make a concession to mine.  You know how I hate the Jewish canvassing of engagements.  Let us keep ours entirely entre nous a fortnight—­so that the gossips shall at least get their material stale, and we shall be hardened.  I wonder why you’re so conventional,” he said again, when she had consented without enthusiasm.  “You had the advantage of Esther—­of Miss Ansell’s society.”

“Call her Esther if you like; I don’t mind,” said Addie.

“I wonder Esther didn’t convert you,” he went on musingly.  “But I suppose you had Raphael on your right hand, as some prayer or other says.  And so you really don’t know what’s become of her?”

“Nothing beyond what I wrote to you.  Mrs. Goldsmith discovered she had written the nasty book, and sent her packing.  I have never liked to broach the subject myself to Mrs. Goldsmith, knowing how unpleasant it must be to her.  Raphael’s version is that Esther went away of her own accord; but I can’t see what grounds he has for judging.”

“I would rather trust Raphael’s version,” said Sidney, with an adumbration of a wink in his left eyelid.  “But didn’t you look for her?”

“Where?  If she’s in London, she’s swallowed up.  If she’s gone to another place, it’s still more difficult to find her.”

“There’s the Agony Column!”

“If Esther wanted us to know her address, what can prevent her sending it?” asked Addie, with dignity.

“I’d find her soon enough, if I wanted to,” murmured Sidney.

“Yes; but I’m not sure we want to.  After all, she cannot be so nice as I thought.  She certainly behaved very ungratefully to Mrs. Goldsmith.  You see what becomes of wild opinions.”

“Addie!  Addie!” said Sidney reproachfully, “how can you be so conventional?”

“I’m not conventional!” protested Addie, provoked at last.  “I always liked Esther very much.  Even now, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have her for a bridesmaid.  But I can’t help feeling she deceived us all.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” said Sidney warmly.  “An author has a right to be anonymous.  Don’t you think I’d paint anonymously if I dared?  Only, if I didn’t put my name to my things no one would buy them.  That’s another of the advantages of my profession.  Once make your name as an artist, and you can get a colossal income by giving up art.”