XVI
“SIR,—I hear from Miss Baker that you were in Brighton last week, and, drawing the inference from the fact that she came to my studio to sit for her portrait, you accuse her of very grievous impropriety. I beg to assure you that this is not so. At my urgent request, Miss Baker, whom I had better say I have known for some years, consented to give me a sitting. My intentions were purely artistic; hers were confined to a wish to oblige an old friend, and I deeply regret that they should have been misinterpreted, and I fear much unhappiness caused thereby.”
“Do you think that will do?”
“Yes, it is a beautiful letter.”
“Do you think so—do you really think so? Do you think I have said all?”
“You might say something—that I never even kissed you; and that you respected me too much.”
“I will if you like, but don't you think that is implied?”
“Perhaps so; but you see he does not read many books. He hasn't time for much reading, and you put things in a difficult way. They sound beautiful, but I—”
“Show me.”
“Well, this 'grievous impropriety.' I know what you mean, but I couldn't explain it.”