'I didn't know he knew anything,' said the lady, glancing forward.
'I don't think he knows anything but that.'
'Then you have found out for yourself that she is faithful. What do you mean by that?'
'Ah, you mustn't question me—I want to question you,' Lyon said. 'How do you all like her here?'
'You ask too much! I can only speak for myself. I think she's hard.'
'That's only because she's honest and straightforward.'
'Do you mean I like people in proportion as they deceive?'
'I think we all do, so long as we don't find them out,' Lyon said. 'And then there's something in her face—a sort of Roman type, in spite of her having such an English eye. In fact she's English down to the ground; but her complexion, her low forehead and that beautiful close little wave in her dark hair make her look like a glorified contadina.'
'Yes, and she always sticks pins and daggers into her head, to increase that effect. I must say I like her husband better: he is so clever.'