“He is an artist, and is painting Dora’s likeness. He is getting on now, but in the past, like all artists, he has suffered a deal.”
“God’s will be done. Let them suffer. It is good for genius to suffer. Is he in love with you?”
“Gracious, Granny! His head is so full of pictures that no woman could find room there, and if one did, the next new picture would crowd her out.”
“End that story, it is long enough.”
“Do you know Miss Ullman?”
“I have heard of her. Who has not?”
“She has Bryce Denning on trial now. If he marries her I shall pity him.”
“Pity him! Not I, indeed! He would have his just reward. Like to like, and Amen to it.”
“Then there was Claudine Jeffrys, looking quite ethereal, but very lovely.”
“I know. Her lover was killed in Cuba, and she has been the type of faithful grief ever since. She looks it and dresses it to perfection.”
“And feels it?”
“Perhaps she does. I am not skilled in the feelings of pensive, heart-broken maidens. But her case is a very common one. Lovers are nowhere against husbands, yet how many thousands of good women lose their husbands every year? If they are poor, they have to hide their grief and work for them-selves and their families; if they are rich, very few people believe that they are really sorry to be widows. Are any poor creatures more jeered at than widows? No man believes they are grieving for the loss of their husbands. Then why should they all sympathize with Claudine about the loss of a lover?”
“Perhaps lovers are nicer than husbands.”
“Pretty much all alike. I have known a few good husbands. Your grandfather was one, your father another. But you have said nothing about Fred. Did he look handsome? Did he make a sensation? Was he a cousin to be proud of?”
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