"Indeed, no. Why should not Dalrymple paint Miss Van Siever as well as any other lady? It is his special business to paint ladies."
"Look here, Mr. Eames.—" And now Miss Demolines, as she spoke, drew her own seat closer to that of her companion and pushed away the little table. "Do you suppose that Conway Dalrymple, in the usual way of his business, paints pictures of young ladies, of which their mothers know nothing? Do you suppose that he paints them in ladies' rooms without their husbands' knowledge? And in the common way of his business does he not expect to be paid for his pictures?"
"But what is all that to you and me, Miss Demolines?"
"Is the welfare of your friend nothing to you? Would you like to see him become the victim of the artifice of such a girl as Clara Van Siever?"
"Upon my word I think he is very well able to take care of himself."
"And would you wish to see that poor creature's domestic hearth ruined and broken up?"
"Which poor creature?"
"Dobbs Broughton, to be sure."
"I can't pretend that I care very much for Dobbs Broughton," said John Eames; "and you see I know so little about his domestic hearth."
"Oh, Mr. Eames!"