“Mrs. Denyer,” replied Clifford, in a friendly tone. “there has been a misunderstanding between us, but I am very far from reconciling myself to the thought that everything is at an end.  My remaining surely proves that.”

“I should have thought so.  But in that case I am obliged to ask you another question.  What can you mean by paying undisguised attentions to another young lady who is living here?”

“You astonish me.  What foundation is there for such a charge?”

“At least you won’t affect ignorance as to the person of whom I speak.  I assure you that I am not the only one who has noticed this.”

“You misinterpret my behaviour altogether.  Of course, you are speaking of Miss Doran.  If your observation had been accurate, you would have noticed that Miss Doran gives me no opportunity of paying her attentions, if I wished.  Certainly I have had conversations with Mrs. Lessingham, but I see no reason why I should deny myself that pleasure.”

“This is sophistry.  You walked about the museum with both these ladies for a long time yesterday.”

Clifford was startled, and could not conceal it.

“Of course,” he exclaimed, “if my movements are watched, with a view to my accusation—!”

And he broke off significantly.

“Your movements are not watched.  But if I happen to hear of such things, I must draw my own conclusions.”

“I give you my assurance that the meeting was purely by chance, and that our conversation was solely of indifferent matters—­of art, of Pompeii, and so on.”

“Perhaps you are not aware,” resumed Mrs. Denyer, with a smile that made caustic comment on this apology, “that, when we sit at table, your eyes are directed to Miss Doran with a frequency that no one can help observing.”

Marsh hesitated; then, throwing his head back, remarked in an unapproachable manner: 

“Mrs. Denyer, you will not forget that I am an artist.”

“I don’t forget that you profess to be one, Mr. Marsh.”

This was retort with a vengeance.  Clifford reddened slightly, and looked angry.  Mrs. Denyer had reached the point to which her remarks were from the first directed, and it was not her intention to spare the young man’s susceptibilities.  She had long ago gauged him, and not inaccurately on the whole; it seemed to her that he was of the men who can be “managed.”

“I fail to understand you,” said Marsh, with dignity.

“My dear Clifford, let me speak to you as one who has your well-being much at heart.  I have no wish to hurt your feelings, but I have been upset by this silly affair, and it makes me speak a little sharply.  Now, I see well enough what you have been about; it is an old device of young gentlemen who wish to revenge themselves just a little for what they think a slight.  Of course you have never given a thought to Miss Doran, who, as you say, would never dream of carrying on a flirtation, for she knows