"You could go early," suggested Mrs. Bobby, "as I did the other day. You have no idea how much better it looks in that light than it did at the studio."
"I am very tired of it, in any light," said Elizabeth. "People have talked to me so much about it. But, if you insist upon it I will go—I will go early. There are some of the other portraits too that I should like to look at, if I can do so in peace." And with this concession, the conversation was allowed to drop for a moment.
It was Elizabeth who resumed it, speaking slowly and tentatively, with many lapses, and eyes carefully turned away from her friend. "You talk," she said, "a great deal of my successes, and I suppose, in a way, I ought to be—satisfied. And of course I am," she added, hastily. "People have been very nice to me. I—I couldn't ask for anything more. And yet—there is one person—I don't know if you have noticed it—one person with whom I am a distinct failure, who I think almost dislikes me, and that is—your friend Mr. Gerard."
"What, Julian," said Mrs. Bobby, in a tone that was absolutely devoid of expression. "You think he—doesn't like you?"
"I am quite sure of it," said Elizabeth.
"But why," questioned Mrs. Bobby, in apparent bewilderment. "What reason have you for thinking so?"
"A great many, but any one of them would be enough. To begin with, he never speaks to me if he can possibly help himself. His avoidance of me is quite pointed—you surely must have noticed it?" She fixed her eyes anxiously upon Mrs. Bobby.
"I"—Mrs. Bobby checked the impulsive words that rose to her lips. "Julian is—is very peculiar," she said in a non-committal tone. "I don't think he cares for women."
"Perhaps not; but still I have seen him talk to them—in a bored sort of way, it is true. But to me he never talks, in any way whatsoever."
"He never has a chance. You are always surrounded."