Her voice rose in gay surprise.
“I heard you needed help,” he said, “nearly a month ago.”
“Thank you—no. But won’t you be seated?”
He went to the stove and gazed at it—rebuffed—perplexed.
Caroline resumed her seat:
“So you are settled in London at last!” she said. “I hear nearly a year now.... You see you are quite a celebrity——”
A burst of laughter from the group about the bed made him start—and he glanced suspiciously over his shoulder.
But they were oblivious of him.
“Come, Caroline,” he said hoarsely, “you needn’t wound me more than my own miserable thoughts have been doing for these many days.”
“Then let us have no talk of help,” she said, dropping her voice also. “Anthony has got some night-work on the papers at last. We are at the end of the siege. Besides—how do you know I am not on the eve of another masterpiece?” She laughed—a little sadly. “You mustn’t judge me too closely by my gowns—they are a little out of the fashion, beyond a doubt, but we may blossom again next spring.”