down, now you remind me.'

Ladywell had apparently more to say, and moved by her side towards the
carriage; but she declined the arm he offered, and said not another word
till he went on, haltingly:

'Your triumph to-night was very great, and it was as much a triumph to me
as to you; I cannot express my feeling--I cannot say half that I would.
If I might only--'

'Thank you much,' said Ethelberta, with dignity. 'Thank you for bringing
my book, but I must go home now. I know that you will see that it is not
necessary for us to be talking here.'

'Yes--you are quite right,' said the repressed young painter, struck by
her seriousness. 'Blame me; I ought to have known better. But perhaps a
man--well, I will say it--a lover without indiscretion is no lover at
all. Circumspection and devotion are a contradiction in terms. I saw
that, and hoped that I might speak without real harm.'

'You calculated how to be uncalculating, and are natural by art!' she
said, with the slightest accent of sarcasm. 'But pray do not attend me
further--it is not at all necessary or desirable. My maid is in the
carriage.' She bowed, turned, and entered the vehicle, seating herself
beside Picotee.

'It was harsh!' said Ladywell to himself, as he looked after the
retreating carriage. 'I was a fool; but it was harsh. Yet what man on
earth likes a woman to show too great a readiness at first? She is
right: she would be nothing without repulse!' And he moved away in an
opposite direction.

'What man was that?' said Picotee, as they drove along.

'O--a mere Mr. Ladywell: a painter of good family, to whom I have been
sitting for what he calls an Idealization. He is a dreadful simpleton.'

'Why did you choose him?'

'I did not: he chose me. But his silliness of behaviour is a hopeful
sign for the picture. I have seldom known a man cunning with his brush
who was not simple with his tongue; or, indeed, any skill in particular
that was not allied to general stupidity.'

'Your own skill is not like that, is it, Berta?'

'In men--in men. I don't mean in women. How childish you are!'

The slight depression at finding that Christopher was not present, which
had followed Ethelberta's public triumph that evening, was covered over,
if not removed, by Ladywell's declaration, and she reached home serene in
spirit. That she had not the slightest notion of accepting the impulsive
painter made little difference; a lover's arguments being