'Of course,' Alma replied distantly.
'No, but in the same spirit, Alma. I'm an ass! I know that if you do this thing at all, you must do it in the usual way. I wish you success heartily, and I'll read with pleasure every scrap of print that praises you.'
'I'm hurrying to town, Harvey. I have to go to the photographer, and see Mr. Dymes, and all sorts of things.'
'The photographer? I hope they'll be tolerable; I know they won't do you justice. Will you sit to a painter if I arrange it? Unfortunately, I can't afford Millais, you know; but I want a good picture of you.'
'We'll talk about it,' she replied, smiling more pleasantly than of late. 'But I really haven't time now.'
'And you forgive me my idiotics?'
She nodded and was gone.
In the afternoon she met Dymes at Mrs. Littlestone's, a house of much society, for the most part theatrical. When they had moved aside for private talk, he began by asking a brusque question.
'Who got that notice for you into the West End?'
'Why, didn't you?'