"Well—the portrait for the Lyonnesse Club's getting along very nicely, George," she laughed.
"Dear, dear Julia——" I began.
"That earnest expression's rather good. What a pity I didn't bring my painting-tools—we might have got a good day's work done to-morrow."
"My dear——"
Then, suddenly, "How long have you actually known Derry, George?" she demanded.
"About fifteen years."
"Not longer? Then you don't know what's coming next?"
I don't like to be smiled at as she was smiling. I jumped up.
"Yes I do," I said with a flush. "What's coming next is that you're not going to do this. You're going to promise me not to. Be his secretary, his nurse, his housekeeper, anything else you like, but you're not to do this. It it's nothing else it's——"
"Taking a mean advantage, you mean?" she supplied the words for me. "But he never did know anything about women. Why shouldn't he learn, poor dear?"