in cooking Italian
dishes, and I confess that his <i spaghetti> were very much
better than his pictures. It was a dinner for a King when he
brought in a huge dish of it, succulent with tomatoes, and we
ate it together with the good household bread and a bottle of
red wine. I grew more intimate with Blanche Stroeve, and I
think, because I was English and she knew few English people,
she was glad to see me. She was pleasant and simple, but she
remained always rather silent, and I knew not why, gave me the
impression that she was concealing something. But I thought that
was perhaps no more than a natural reserve accentuated by the
verbose frankness of her husband. Dirk never concealed anything.
He discussed the most intimate matters with a complete
lack of self-consciousness. Sometimes he embarrassed
his wife, and the only time I saw her put out of countenance
was when he insisted on telling me that he had taken a purge,
and went into somewhat realistic details on the subject.
The perfect seriousness with which he narrated his
misfortunes convulsed me with laughter, and this added to
Mrs. Stroeve's irritation.

"You seem to like making a fool of yourself," she said.

His round eyes grew rounder still, and his brow puckered in
dismay as he saw that she was angry.

"Sweetheart, have I vexed you? I'll never take another.
It was only because I was bilious. I lead a sedentary life.
I don't take enough exercise. For three days I hadn't ..."

"For goodness sake, hold your tongue," she interrupted, tears
of annoyance in her eyes.

His face fell, and he pouted his lips like a scolded child.
He gave me a look of appeal, so that I might put things right,
but, unable to control myself, I shook with helpless laughter.

We went one day to the picture-dealer in whose shop Stroeve
thought he could show me at least two or three of Strickland's
pictures, but when we arrived were told that Strickland
himself had taken them away. The dealer did not know why.

"But don't imagine to yourself that I make myself bad blood on
that account. I took them to oblige Monsieur Stroeve, and I
said I would sell them if I could. But really --" He
shrugged his shoulders. "I'm interested in the young men, but
<i voyons>, you yourself, Monsieur Stroeve, you don't think
there's any talent there."

"I give you my word of honour, there's no one painting to-day
in whose talent I am more convinced. Take my word for it,
you are missing a