“Do you ever go down to your husband’s studio?” said Mrs. Lorraine.
She glanced toward the lady at the piano.
“Oh, you may talk,” said Mrs. Lorraine, with the least expression of contempt in her gray eyes. “She is singing to gratify herself, not us.”
“Yes, I sometimes go down,” said Sheila in as low a voice as she could manage without falling into a whisper, “and it is such a dismal place. It is very hard on him to have to work in a big bare room like that, with the windows half blinded. But sometimes I think Frank would rather have me out of the way.”
“And what would he do if both of us were to pay him a visit?” said Mrs. Lorraine. “I should so like to see the studio! Won’t you call for me some day and take me with you?”
Take her with her, indeed! Sheila began to wonder that she did not propose to go alone. Fortunately, there was no need to answer the question, for at this moment the song came to an end, and there was a general movement and murmur of gratitude.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Lorraine to the lady who had sung the song, and was now returning to the photographs she had left, “thank you very much. I knew some one would instantly ask you to sing that song; it is the most charming of all your songs, I think, and how well it suits your voice, too!”
Then she turned to Sheila again: “How did you like Lord Arthur Redburn?”
“I think he is a very good young man.”
“Young men are never good, but they may be very amiable,” said Mrs. Lorraine, not perceiving that Sheila had blundered on a wrong adjective, and that she had really meant that she thought him honest and pleasant.