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She rested her good gray eyes on Lyon. ‘Don’t you think he’s handsome?’

‘Handsome and clever and entertaining. You see I’m generous.’

‘Yes; you must know him well,’ Mrs. Capadose repeated.

‘He has seen a great deal of life,’ said her companion.

‘Yes, we have been in so many places. You must see my little girl. She is nine years old–she’s too beautiful.’

‘You must bring her to my studio some day–I should like to paint her.’

‘Ah, don’t speak of that,’ said Mrs. Capadose. ‘It reminds me of something so distressing.’

‘I hope you don’t mean when you used to sit to me–though that may well have bored you.’

‘It’s not what you did–it’s what we have done. It’s a confession I must make–it’s a weight on my mind! I mean about that beautiful picture you gave me–it used to be so much admired. When you come to see me in London (I count on your doing that very soon) I shall see you looking all round. I can’t tell you I keep it in my own room because I love it so, for the simple reason—-‘ And she paused a moment.

‘Because you can’t tell wicked lies,’ said Lyon.

‘No, I can’t. So before you ask for it—-‘

‘Oh, I know you parted with it–the blow has already fallen,’ Lyon interrupted.

‘Ah then, you have heard? I was sure you would! But do you know what we got for it? Two hundred pounds.’

‘You might have got much more,’ said Lyon, smiling.

‘That seemed a great deal at the time. We were in want of the money–it was a good while ago, when we first married. Our means were very small then, but fortunately that has changed rather for the better. We had the chance; it really seemed a big sum, and I am afraid we jumped at it. My husband had expectations which have partly come into effect, so that now we do well enough. But meanwhile the picture went.’

‘Fortunately the original remained. But do you mean that two hundred was the value of the vase?’ Lyon asked.

‘Of the vase?’

‘The beautiful old Indian vase–the Grand Duke’s offering.’

‘The Grand Duke?’

‘What’s his name?–Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. Your husband mentioned the transaction.’

‘Oh, my husband,’ said Mrs. Capadose; and Lyon saw that she coloured a little.

Not to add to her embarrassment, but to clear up the ambiguity, which he perceived the next moment he had better have left alone, he went on: ‘He tells me it’s now in his collection.’

‘In the Grand Duke’s? Ah, you know its reputation? I believe it contains treasures.’ She was bewildered, but she recovered herself, and Lyon made the mental reflection that for some reason which would seem good when he knew it the husband and the wife had prepared different versions of the same incident. It was true that he did not exactly see Everina Brant preparing a version; that was not her line of old, and indeed it was not in her eyes to-day. At any rate they both had the matter too much on their conscience. He changed the subject, said Mrs. Capadose must really bring the little girl. He sat with her some time longer and thought–perhaps it was only a fancy–that she was rather absent, as if she were annoyed at their having been even for a moment at cross-purposes. This did not prevent him from saying to her at the last, just as the ladies began to gather themselves together to go to bed: ‘You seem much impressed, from what you say, with my renown and my prosperity, and you are so good as greatly to exaggerate them. Would you have married me if you had known that I was destined to success?’

‘I did know it.’

‘Well, I didn’t’

‘You were too modest.’

‘You didn’t think so when I proposed to you.’

‘Well, if I had married you I couldn’t have married him–and he’s so nice,’ Mrs. Capadose said. Lyon knew she thought it–he had learned that at dinner–but it vexed him a little to hear her say it. The gentleman designated by the pronoun came up, amid the prolonged handshaking for good-night, and Mrs. Capadose remarked to her husband as she turned away, ‘He wants to paint Amy.’