"Excuse me, I did not know," she returned.
"Oh no; I believe you did not. I think I failed to mention the matter to you. Well, he is the greatest artist in Rome—people are raving over his pictures. They say he has the most brilliant genius of his time."
"Is that why you are angry with him?" she asked, with a slight smile.
"No; oh, no. But I wrote to him and asked him to paint your portrait. I even offered to take you to Rome if he would not come to Paris."
"Well?"
"He had the impertinence to send me a cool refusal," said the colonel, irately.
"He did—and why?" asked Bonnibel, just a little piqued at the unknown artist.
"He did not like to paint portraits, he said—he preferred the ideal world of art. Did you ever hear of such a cool excuse?"
"We have no right to feel angry with him. He is, of course, the master of his own actions, and has undoubted right to his preferences," said Bonnibel, calmly.
But though she spoke so quietly, her womanly vanity was piqued by the unknown artist's cold refusal "to hand her sweetness down to fame."