“So I heard.”
The brief words were enigmatic in tone, and Mrs. Carfax gave an uncomprehending gasp.
“He’s a celebrated man, as of course you know. He was made President of the International Art Congress this summer, here in London. And he’s naturally a splendid painter. But he’s not a nice man. Few Frenchmen are.”
Madame Didier shut her thin lips, and bent over her embroidery.
“You mean——?” began Mrs. Carfax timidly.
“If he were an Englishman, he would have a very bad reputation. But in Paris—well!” Madame Didier shrugged her shoulders. “There’s no such thing as morality. I need not tell you that I have never grown accustomed to it. I still keep my English ideas as to right and wrong.”
“I’m thankful you do, dear Helen,” murmured her aunt.
“I warned Madge,” pursued her friend. “I told her all I had heard about him. Louis was angry with me, but I thought it my duty.”
“But she hasn’t——? I mean there isn’t any danger of—of a divorce, or anything of that kind?”
Mrs. Carfax involuntarily lowered her voice to a horrified whisper.