"I beg your pardon," he said, under his breath, as he bent down, fulfilling his office.—"The exigencies of the piece must excuse me."
"What a queer way of apologizing for running a pin into your wife!" said his mother sharply. She might have been trusted to overhear. He had straightened himself, and was withdrawing rather precipitately, when his eyes fell on his own picture above the chimney-piece. "What is that thing doing here?" he asked, off his guard.
Lady Henrietta desisted from her pleased contemplation of Susan decked out with jewels.
"Well!" she said. "Of all things! Do you mean to say?—It has been there ever since she came. I had it hung there myself to be company for your heart-broken widow."
"Anyhow, we'll have it down now," he said hastily. "You'd rather not have the daub glaring at you, wouldn't you, Susan?"
Lady Henrietta turned her back on him.
"Don't mind him, my dear," she said. "We'll keep it."
There was warmth in her tone. She squeezed the girl's arm, bidding her remember that none of Barnaby's old flames could hold a candle to her. Somehow or other he had fallen under her displeasure.
"I'm afraid my acting doesn't come up to yours," he said, when they were shut into the motor. "My mother thinks I am too undemonstrative ... that I am unworthy of my good luck."
"Don't!" she said.