“Fourget!”
“Was that his name? He seemed most anxious about you.”
“He is my friend.”
“I like him,” said the Lady of the Rose.
“Then you understand him. I didn’t understand him—till this morning. He is an art-dealer: those that he won’t buy from think him hard; the friends of those that he buys from think him a fool.”
Although he had reassured her of his health, she seemed charmingly willing to linger. Really, she was looking at Cartaret’s haggard cheeks with a wonderful sympathy.
“So he bought from you?”
Cartaret nodded.
“Only I hope you won’t think him a fool,” he said.
“I shall consider,” she laughed. “I must first see some of your work, sir.”