“I did.”
“And what did he say?”
“He seemed to think the Board was right.”
“I knew he would. You remember I asked you not to go to him about it, and that was why.”
“Why did you think so? He assumes to be my friend.”
“Because people who don’t know anything about art always are satisfied with their own opinions. They don’t know anything to upset them. He knows more than some of them, but how much is that? Enough to know that he owns some fine paintings; but you taught him their value, now, didn’t you?” Bertrand smiled, but said nothing, and his wife continued. “Prepare the lectures, dear, for my sake. I love to know that you are doing such work.”
“I can’t. The action of the Board is an insult to my intelligence. What are you smiling about?”
“About you, dear.”
“Mary, why, Mary! I––”
But Mary only smiled the more. “You love my irrelevance and inconsistency, you say,––”