"We find it useful," quietly remarked the other.
"Certainly we do; but you are an artist, Norbert, and money is only an accident of your career. Do we ever talk about it, or think about it? Poor Bertha! With her talent!"
The artist paced about, his hands in his jacket pockets. He was smiling uneasily.
"Did you know anything of this kind was going on?" he asked, without looking at his wife.
"I had heard nothing whatever. It's ages since Bertha was here."
"Yet you don't seem very much surprised."
"And you?" asked Rosamund, meeting his eyes. "Were you profoundly astonished?"
"Why, yes. It came very unexpectedly. I had no idea they saw each other—except in the shop."
"And it vexes you?" said Rosamund, her eyes upon his face.
"Vexes? Oh, I can't say that." He fidgeted, turned about, laughed. "Why should it vex me? After all, Warburton is such a thoroughly good fellow, and if he makes money—"