He had sat down near Statira on the lounge, but she drew a little away from him in a provisional fashion, as if she would first see what came of 'Manda Grier's inquisition.
“Art-students?” he repeated aimlessly while he felt his colour go.
“Yes!” she snapped. “Them girls 't used to be 't the St. Albans, 't you thought so wonderful!”
“I didn't know I thought they were very wonderful!”
“Can't you answer a civil question?” she demanded, raising her voice.
“I haven't heard any,” said Lemuel, with sullen scorn.
“Oh! Well!” she sneered. “I forgot that you've b'en used to goin' with such fine folks that you can't bear to be spoken to in plain English.”
“'Manda!” began Statira, with an incipient whimper.
“You be still, S'tira Dudley! Mr. Barker,” said the poor foolish thing in the mincing falsetto which she thought so cutting, “have you any idea what's become of your young lady artist friends,—them that took your portrait as a Roman youth, you know?”
Lemuel made no answer whatever for a time. Then, whether he judged it best to do so, or was goaded to the defiance by 'Manda Grier's manner, he replied, “Miss Swan and Miss Carver? Miss Swan is married, and lives in Wyoming Territory now.” Before he had reached the close of the sentence he had controlled himself sufficiently to be speaking quite calmly.