's charming--it's very delicate work. Surely it has been
retouched."

The interior of the pavilion, lighted by windows which the circle of
columns was supposed outside and at a distance to conceal, had a vaulted
ceiling and was occupied by a few pieces of last-century furniture,
spare and faded, of which the colours matched with the decoration of the
walls. These and the ceiling, tinted and not exempt from indications of
damp, were covered with fine mouldings and medallions. It all made a
very elegant little tea-house, the mistress of which sat on the edge of
a sofa rolling her parasol and remarking, "You ought to read Mr.
Hoppus's article to me."

"Why, is _this_ your salon?" Nick smiled.

"What makes you always talk of that? My salon's an invention of your
own."

"But isn't it the idea you're most working for?"

Suddenly, nervously, she put up her parasol and sat under it as if not
quite sensible of what she was doing. "How much you know me! I'm not
'working' for anything--that you'll ever guess."

Nick wandered about the room and looked at various things it
contained--the odd volumes on the tables, the bits of quaint china on
the shelves. "They do keep it very well. You've got charming things."

"They're supposed to come over every day and look after them."

"They must come over in force."

"Oh no one knows."

"It's spick and span. How well you have everything done!"

"I think you've some reason to say so," said Mrs. Dallow. Her parasol
was now down and she was again rolling it tight.

"But you're right about my not knowing you. Why were you so ready to do
so much for me?"

He stopped in front of her and she looked up at him. Her eyes rested
long on his own; then she broke out: "Why do you hate me so?"

"Was it because you like me personally?" Nick pursued as if he hadn't
heard her. "You may think that an odd or positively an odious question;
but isn't it natural, my wanting to know?"

"Oh if you don't know!" Julia quite desperately sighed.

"It's a question of being sure."

"Well then if you're not sure----!"

"Was it done for me as a friend, as a man?"

"You're not a man--you're a child," his hostess declared with a face
that was cold, though she had been smiling the moment before.

"After all I was a good candidate," Nick went on.

"What do I care for candidates?"

"You're the most delightful woman, Julia," he said as he sat down beside
her, "and I can't imagine what you mean by my hati