n something, in
what she could not say, having no knowledge of painting. Nor was she
sure that her father believed in his pictures, though he had just
declared they had all the beauties of Raphael and other beauties
besides. He had a trick of never appearing to thoroughly believe in them
and in himself. She listened interested and amused, not knowing how to
take him. She had been away at school for nearly ten years, coming home
for rare holidays, and was, therefore, without any real knowledge of her
parents. She understood her father even less than her mother; but she
was certain that if he were not a great genius he might have been one,
and she resolved to find out Lord Dungory's opinions on her father. But
the opportunity for five minutes quiet chat behind her mother's back did
not present itself. As soon as he arrived her mother sent her out of the
room on some pretext more or less valid, and at the end of the week the
gowns that had been ordered in Dublin arrived: ecstasy consumed the
house, and she heard him say that he would give a great dinner-party to
show them off.

VI

Arthur, who rarely dined out, handed the ladies into the carriage.

Mrs. Barton was beautifully dressed in black satin; Olive was lost in a
mass of tulle; Alice wore a black silk trimmed with passementerie and
red ribbons. Behind the Clare mountains the pale transitory colours of
the hour faded, and the women, their bodies and their thoughts swayed
together by the motion of the vehicle, listened to the irritating
barking of the cottage-dog. Surlily a peasant, returning from his work,
his frieze coat swung over one shoulder, stepped aside. A bare-legged
woman, surrounded by her half-naked children, leaving the potato she was
peeling in front of her door, gazed, like her husband, after the rolling
vision of elegance that went by her, and her obtuse brain probably
summed up the implacable decrees of Destiny in the phrase:

'Shure there misht be a gathering at the big house this evening.'

'But tell me, mamma,' said Olive, after a long silence, 'how much
champagne ought I to drink at dinner? You know, it is a long time since
I have tasted it. Indeed, I don't remember that I ever did taste it.'

Mrs. Barton laughed softly:

'Well, my dear, I don't think that two glasses could do you any harm;
but I would not advise you to drink any more.'

'And what shall I say to the man who takes me down to dinner? Shall I
have to begin the convers