"He is a great friend of Mr. Blake's-Herbert L'Estrange. He has just had a picture accepted for the Academy. He has been helping me lately. I never knew any one get such rich effects in colour as he does. You would like him, if you knew him, Miss Lorraine."
"Is he French or English?"
"A little of both. His father was French, and he was brought up in France. He is such a well-read man, not like many of them, who never read at all, and he is very fond of poetry. It is strange how he and I like the same authors."
Jean's tone was eager and her face flushed. Miss Lorraine looked keenly at her.
"He does not look prepossessing, Jean. Did the Blakes introduce him to you?"
"I am sure I do not remember. He is coming with us to Paris. I meet him everywhere. I think he is so intellectual looking. He may not be handsome, but if you knew him as I do, you would not mind his looks."
"Jean, dear," Miss Lorraine said kindly, "take a word of caution from me in good part. You have no mother, and an artist's life is full of dangers. Be careful, very careful, whom you make your friends. You will find, as your life goes on, that there are many people whose influence and friendship will hurt instead of help you."
Jean's eyes flashed.
"Mr. L'Estrange does not deserve this. You cannot understand my friends, Miss Lorraine; I do not expect you to. Mr. L'Estrange is a gentleman, and he never forgets it. He and I have mutual likes and dislikes, we have both suffered from our relations on account of art. He is a genius, and I am honoured by his friendship."
"He may be a genius and all that you say, but I do not think he is a good man. It is not often that I speak so strongly, but I know I am a good reader of faces, and his—. I can only say it does not read well."