ung man! Conway Dalrymple to be sure. Artists are always
weak. Of all men in the world they are the most subject to flattery
from women; and we all know that Conway Dalrymple is very vain."

"Upon my word I didn't know it," said Johnny.

"Yes, you do. You must know it. When a man goes about in a purple
velvet coat of course he is vain."

"I certainly cannot defend a purple velvet coat."

"That is what he wore when this girl sat to him this morning."

"This morning was it?"

"Yes, this morning. They little think that they can do nothing
without my knowing it. He was there for nearly four hours, and she
was dressed up in a white robe as Jael, with a turban on her head.
Jael, indeed! I call it very improper, and I am quite astonished that
Maria Clutterbuck should have lent herself to such a piece of work.
That Maria was never very wise, of course we all know; but I thought
that she had principle enough to have kept her from this kind of
thing."

"It's her fevered existence," said Johnny.

"That is just it. She must have excitement. It is like dram-drinking.
And then, you know, they are always living in the crater of a
volcano."

"Who are living in the crater of a volcano?"

"The Dobbs Broughtons are. Of course they are. There is no saying
what day a smash may come. These City people get so used to it that
they enjoy it. The risk is everything to them."

"They like to have a little certainty behind the risk, I fancy."

"I'm afraid there is very little that's certain with Dobbs Broughton.
But about this picture, Mr. Eames. I look to you to assist me there.
It must be put a stop to. As to that I am determined. It must be--put
a--stop to." And as Miss Demolines repeated these last words with a
tremendous emphasis she leant with both her elbows on a little table
that stood between her and her visitor, and looked with all her eyes
into his face. "I do hope that you agree with me in that," said she.

"Upon my word I do not see the harm of the picture," said he.

"You do not?"

"Indeed, no. Why should not Dalrymple paint Miss Van Siever as well
as any other lady? It is his special business to paint ladies."

"Look here, Mr. Eames--" And now Miss Demolines, as she spoke, drew
her own seat closer to that of her companion and pushed away the
little table. "Do you suppose that Conway Dalrymple, in the usual
way of his business, paints pictures of young ladies, of which their
mothers know nothing? Do you suppose tha