“Azalea!” he cried.
Then he frowned.
“I do not like to paint a person in masquerade,” he said.
“But this,” I said, “is a return to type.”
He still frowned.
“Perhaps you don’t like the type?”
He did not answer.
“Are we keeping Madam Knox waiting?” he asked.
I dropped a curtsy and found grandmother behind the screen. She too, was looking not particularly well pleased.
I kissed her again and helped her up to her chair.