So Lanny looked up “lightening,” and three or four words more. But he couldn't help trying once again. “Robbie, you don't want me to give Beauty advice; but I've already given her some, and I know it's counting with her. You don't think it was good advice?”
“It wasn't what I'd give her; but it may be right for her. She's a sentimental person, and it seems she's very much in love with that painter fellow.”
“Oh, really she is, Robbie. I watched them all the time on the yacht. Anybody could see it.”
“But he's a lot younger than she is; and that's going to make a tragedy some day.”
“You mean, Marcel will stop loving her?”
“Not entirely, perhaps; he'll be torn in half, just the way she is now.”
“You mean he'll get interested in some younger woman?”
“I mean he'll have to be a saint if he doesn't; and I haven't met any saints among French painters.”
“You ought to know Marcel better, Robbie. He is one of the very best men I ever have met.”
“I'm taking your word for him. But there's a lot you still must learn, son. Beauty would be poor — that is, by the standards of everyone she knows or wants to know. And that's awful hard on the affections. It gets worse and worse as you get older, too.”