"The boy never told you half the truth; he was a very backward boy."
"If we are to be friends you mustn't run him down, Mr. Warrener," she said; "I was very fond of Con.... 'Rouen!' Have you ever been there since?"
"No; I was abroad for years—out of Europe, I mean."
"You were going to be an artist?"
"I hoped to be."
"Aren't you?"
"No; I haven't the artist's temperament—I'm too constant."
She regarded the postcard on the table again, and he did justice to her eyelashes.
"Ostend is going down dreadfully, isn't it?" she remarked. "All the ridiculous people who have just got titles have brought them here. We're leaving on Thursday."
He sighed.