age has behaved in this dreadful affair of Robert Orange! You
won't think me strange for introducing the subject at once? It must be
on both our minds, for you are naturally thinking of Reckage, and I am
thinking of dear Pensee."

"Beauclerk is very fond of Mr. Orange."

"He must be. Do notice the autumn tint on those beech-trees. How I envy
artists--although it is not their business to contend with Nature. The
great vice of the present day is _bravura_--an attempt to do something
beyond the truth. That reminds me--how does the portrait grow? David
Rennes is extremely clever."

"Beauclerk admires his work. He considers him finer than Millais."

"What does he think of the portrait?"

"He hasn't seen it yet. My people are much pleased with the likeness. I
find it flattering."

"Indeed!" said Sara thoughtfully. "Did you give him many sittings?"

"He knows my face pretty well. We are acquaintances of some years'
standing. Papa has a high opinion of him."

"And you?"

"I am no judge. Women can know so little about men."

"I don't agree with you there. They are far more conventional
than we are. They are trained in batches, thousands are of one
pattern--especially in society. But each woman has an individual
bringing-up. She is influenced by a foreign governess, or her mother, or
her nurse. This must give every girl peculiar personal views of
everything. That is why men find us hard to understand. We don't
understand each other; we suspect each other: we have no sense of
comradeship."

"Perhaps you are right," said Agnes, rather sadly. "Yet our troubles all
seem to arise from the fact that we cannot manage men. It matters very
little really whether we can manage women. With women, one need only be
natural, straightforward, and unselfish. You can't come to grief that
way. But with men, it is almost impossible to be quite natural. As for
being straightforward, don't they misconstrue our words continually? And
when one tries to be unselfish, they accuse one of hardness, coldness,
and everything most contrary to one's feelings. Of course," she added
quickly, "I speak from observation. I have nothing to complain of
myself."

"Of course not. Neither have I. I have grown up with most of my men
friends. I had no mother, and I exhausted dozens of governesses and
masters, I am sure I was troublesome, but I had an instinctive horror of
becoming narrow-minded and getting into a groove. My English relations
bored me. My fo