'And are any of them going to be married yet?' said Olive.
'I really don't know; I didn't ask them.'
'Well, they ought to be doing something with themselves; they have been trying it on long enough. They have been going up to the Shelbourne for the last ten years. Did they show you the dresses they brought down this season? They haven't worn them yet—they keep them wrapped up in silver paper.'
'And how did you hear all that?' she asked.
'Oh, one hears everything! I don't live with my nose buried in a book like you. That was all very well in the convent.'
'But what have I done that you should speak to me in that way?'
'Now, Alice dear,' said Mrs. Barton coaxingly, 'don't get angry. I assure you Olive means nothing.'
'No, indeed, I didn't!' Olive exclaimed, and she forced her sister back into the chair.
Arthur's attention had been too deeply absorbed in the serenade in Don Pasquale to give heed to the feminine bickering with which his studio was ringing, until he was startled suddenly from his musical dreaming by an angry exclamation from his wife.
The picture of the bathers, which Alice had seen begun, had been only partially turned to the wall, and, after examining it for a few moments, Mrs. Barton got up and turned the picture round. The two naked creatures who were taking a dip in the quiet, sunlit pool were Olive and Mrs. Barton; and so grotesque were the likenesses that Alice could not refrain from laughing.