long, and tell him how wonderful he is. A sort of echo."
"Are you sure that would please him? And suppose it did—after all"
"No!" she said with determination. "There are plenty of other people to tell him what fine speeches he makes, and how clever he is. I'm not going to be one of them. He'll hear the truth from his wife, whether he likes it or not."
"So you don't think he makes good speeches?" persisted Madame Claire gently.
"I dare say he does, but"
"I thought you said he would hear the truth from you. If he does make a good speech, I should think he'd love to hear you say so. If you do believe in him and in his ability, Louise, I wish you would let him know it. I don't believe you have any idea how much it would mean to him."
Louise got up and walked to the window.
"I have his ability and his cleverness thrown at me by his admirers year in and year out," she said. "I'm sick to death of it."
"And are you the only one who never encourages or praises him?" asked Madame Claire. "A man must find that rather bitter."
Louise turned from the window with an abrupt movement.
