“It’s all right,” she said. “But—you see my mourning! I am in deep mourning, and I ought not—”
She stopped. She felt the uselessness of her protest, the ungraciousness of her demeanour. Without another word she went to the sofa by one of the windows and sat down. He came and sat down beside her.
“I want you to help me about Dick Garstin,” he said.
“How? What can I do? I have no influence with him.”
“Oh, yes, you have. A lady like you has always influence with a man.”
“Not with him.”
“But I say you have.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to tell him what I have said to you to-day.”
“That you won’t have the picture exhibited?”