to Madame de Lamouderie and taking her by both hands. She was feeling very sorry for her; why she did not quite know—for after all she had had Dick all the evening. 'The lights at the Ecu d'Or will be out soon!—It's been too delicious.—You must ask us again to an evening concert.'
'Ah, one can have too much of music!' said the old lady crossly, and over Jill's bare, festive shoulder, her eye went to where Graham bent his head to examine Mademoiselle Ludérac's harp.
'But we will have a great deal besides music!' Jill rallied her. 'Tell me, can't I come some morning to take you for a motor-drive? The country here is so marvellous, and you can't really have seen it unless you've seen it from a car.—May I come to-morrow?'
'But my portrait?' said the old lady, mournfully now, still holding Jill by the hands and still looking over her shoulder at the other two.—Jill could hear that they were not speaking at all.—'Is it to be abandoned?'
'But of course not! It's in the afternoons Dick comes for that;—and only when it rains!'
The old lady debated the point, with evident trouble. 'And Marthe? What will she be doing? Alone here.'
Jill felt like laughing. 'But surely she's accustomed to being alone.'
'Ah—' the old lady wagged her head in sage caution. 'Alone; but alone with me.—Alone with only
