"I was just looking at a very good picture of you," said Harley, and he spread the paper before her, hoping that she would express surprise and distaste. But she showed neither.
"Oh, I've seen that already," she said, quite coolly. "Don't you think it a good picture?"
"I have no fault to find with the likeness," replied Harley, with some meaning in his tone.
"Then what fault have you to find?"
Harley was embarrassed, and hesitated, seeking for the right words—what did it matter to him if she failed to show the reserve that he thought part of a gentlewoman's nature.
"You infer more than I meant," he said, at last. "I merely felt surprise that they should have obtained a photograph so quickly."
The slightly deepened flush in her cheeks remained and she surveyed him with the same cool air of defiance.
"They would have had a picture, anyhow, something made up; was it not better, then, to furnish them a real one than to have a burlesque published?"
"It's hardly usual," said Harley, more embarrassed than ever. "But really, Miss Morgan, I have no right to speak of it in any connection."
"No, but you were intending to do so. It was in your eye when I looked up and saw you coming towards me."