gave quick place to a comprehension that set a little thrill tingling her
from head to foot. His restraint was the nicest homage ever rendered her;
she saw that instantly; and the straight look she gave him out of her
clear eyes took his breath away for a second.

"Do you remember Sacharissa?" she asked.

"I do--certainly! I always thought----"

"What?" she said, smiling.

He muttered something about eyes and white skin and a trick of the heavy
lids.

She was perfectly at ease now; she leaned back in her chair, studying him
calmly.

"Suppose," she said, "people could see me here now."

"It would end your artistic career," he replied, laughing; "and fancy! I
took you for the sort that painted for a bare existence!"

"And I--I took you for----"

"Something very different than what I am."

"In one way--not in others."

"Oh! I look the mountebank?"