"How long was Mary here?"
"Oh, pretty late, I should say."
"H'm! That woman's had a damned hard time," Driscoll said, ruminating between his sips of coffee; "does those colored things for the Semaine Illustrée. She's drawn ever since she was a baby. Never had a lesson in her life till two years ago. I met her at Julien's. She was working like the devil."
"Making up for lost time?"
"Yes, poor girl! Married a brute of a Melbourne ship-builder when she was seventeen. Stood him till three years ago, and then—Lord! the audacity of these women—came to Paris to study art, if you please. Thirty, and never had a lesson in her life!"
He laughed, and held out his coffee-cup.
"Ship-builder dead?" asked Gano, filling it up.
"Dead! No! alive and kicking, or I'd have made her marry me."
"Lord! the audacity of these men," laughed his friend.
When Driscoll got definitely worse, Mrs. Burne stayed with him through the day, and Gano sat up with him at night.