'To me the simile she suggests is rather that of a rose.'
'Oh, I only spoke hygienically,' said Graham, all good-humour. 'If it comes to æsthetic analogies I can match you, I feel sure.'
'I thought that, æsthetically, Madame Graham did not interest you. I had even feared that you might look upon her only as a peach.'
Graham, at that, shot a glance at his old friend, and it conveyed a warning.
She changed the subject. 'We are all in readiness for you, you see. Marthe will be here directly. She is engaged, I think, in dusting my room. But she does not forget our hour. Ah, here she is,' and Graham, turning, saw that Mademoiselle Ludérac had entered.
She was in black, as always. It was for that, perhaps, that she had always the peasant look. All that he saw of her was that she was in black and that she bowed her head in answer to his murmured greeting.
'Have you any choice of a book?' asked Madame de Lamouderie, as he turned again to his easel, and he was aware that she observed maliciously something awkward in his demeanour. 'Marthe is ready to read us anything that we may choose.—Are you not, Marthe?'
Mademoiselle Ludérac made no reply to this question, conceiving, probably, that it required none.
'But I've nothing to do with the reading,' said Graham. 'It must be your choice. Or perhaps I may rely on Mademoiselle Ludérac to choose something
