nald, because that made him seem like a relation, and
she wouldn't think to begin with that I was with a perfect stranger. But
as soon as I said "Somerled," she knew all about him, not only the
history of the first Somerled, which, of course, she _would_ know, but
that this one was a great celebrity. _I_ shouldn't have known that, if
Mr. Norman hadn't mentioned it: and Moore with the teeth told me, too,
that she'd heard Mrs. West say he was "a millionaire." I'm not sure if
Mrs. James knew about the millions, and even if she did, they wouldn't
seem half as important to her as his pictures, which she began to chat
about. Of course they're not as important, because anybody can have
millions by accident, but they can have genius only from what they are
in themselves. I felt more than ever how wonderful it was that he should
be so good to me; a person so flattered and run after; but all the same
I _couldn't_ make myself feel in awe of him. He seemed to me just a Man:
and I wanted as much as ever to see what he would do if I took my own
way and went against him.

Mrs. James invited us into the house in her cordial, emphatic way, while
our coming and our being together were still mysteries which must have
puzzled her wildly. I saw by the blue flash in Mr. Somerled's eyes that
the artist in him admired the shop-drawing-room, and I thought from his
manner that he had taken a fancy to Mrs. James herself. I am so used to
her looks, from seeing her once a month ever since I can remember, that
I can hardly judge what she is like: and I suppose she _is_ peculiar.
But why shouldn't she try to keep young for the sake of her dream? I
think it's romantic and beautiful, and all one with her efforts to
become the intellectual equal of her lost husband. Grandma and Heppie
sneer after Mrs. James has been and gone, at the long words she uses,
and condemn her for wanting to deceive people into thinking she's much
younger than she is. But that is because they've no romance in them, and
can't understand her true motive.

Her figure is like a young girl's, though perhaps a little stiffer and
less rounded. She is short, and has the tiniest waist in the world, so
tiny that it must hurt her to breathe, but that is her chief pride,
because "the doctor" (as she always calls him) fell in love at first
sight with her slender waist; and she has never let it measure an inch
more than it did then. A big man could span it with his hands. Perhaps
Doctor Jam