'Don't what, Dora?—don't make up to you?'
'Don't begin to talk of those things. There is no need. We can go on being friends.'
'I will do exactly as you prescribe, and heaven forbid I should annoy you. But would you mind answering me a question? It is very particular, very intimate.' He stopped, and she only looked at him, saying nothing. So he went on: 'Is it an idea of your mother's that you should marry—some person here?' He gave her a chance to reply, but still she was silent, and he continued: 'Do you mind telling me this? Could it ever be an idea of your own?'
'Do you mean some Frenchman?'
Raymond smiled. 'Some protégé of Madame de Brives.'
Then the girl simply gave a slow, sad head-shake which struck him as the sweetest, proudest, most suggestive thing in the world. 'Well, well, that's all right,' he remarked, cheerfully, and looked again a while at the bust, which he thought extraordinarily clever. 'And haven't you been done by one of these great fellows?'
'Oh dear no; only mamma and Effie. But Tishy is going to be, in a month or two. The next time you come you must see her. She remembers you vividly.'
'And I remember her that last night, with her reticule. Is she always pretty?'
Dora hesitated a moment. 'She is a very sweet little creature, but she is not so pretty as Effie.'
'And have none of them wished to do you—none of the painters?'