"I don't know," said Billy. "We do not communicate with one another. That always influences, you know, and it is better to work out thought alone."
"I should think it would be." Something in her tone suggested that the inviolated solitude of the asylum suggested itself to her as a fitting spot. "Well, we won't interrupt you any longer. You've been most interesting.... The sun is quite hot, isn't it?" and with one long, lingering look at the picture, a look convinced against its will, she went her way toward the victoria.
But Lady Claire stood still. Billy had fairly forgotten all about her, and now as he turned suddenly from the clowning with her chaperon, he found her gaze being transferred from his picture to himself. It was a very steady gaze, calm-eyed and deliberate.
"I'm afraid you're making game of us!" she said, in her musical, high-bred tones, her clear eyes disconcertingly upon him. "Aren't you?" she gently demanded.
"That's not fair." Billy was uncomfortable and looked away in haste. He felt a grin coming.
Perhaps he was a shade too late, for Lady Claire laughed suddenly and with a note of curious delight.
"You're too amusing!" she said. "What made you?... How did you think of it all?... Are you just beginning?"
"Oh, I began twenty years ago," he smiled back, "but I haven't done anything in the meantime."
Again she laughed with that ring of mischievous delight. "However you could think of it all! I shan't tell on you—but she'll never be done wondering." She turned away, her pretty face still bright with humor, and then she turned back hesitantly toward him.
"It is hot here in this sun," she said. "It can't be good for you. Shall we drive you back?"