"Very much." The tone was noncommittal.

"I don't suppose he told you how he worked," said Cynthia, smiling. "Oh,
he's a great dear, Philip! Only he takes a good deal of knowing."

"Did you ever see his wife?" said Helena abruptly.

Cynthia's movement showed her unpleasantly startled. She looked
instinctively towards the library window, where Buntingford was now
standing with his back to them. No, he couldn't have heard.

"No, never," she said hurriedly, in a low voice. "Nobody ever speaks to
him about her. She was of course not his equal socially."

"Is that the reason why nobody speaks of her?"

Cynthia flushed indignantly.

"Not that I know of. Why do you ask?"

"I thought you put the two things together," said Helena in her most
detached tone. "And she was an artist?"

"A very good one, I believe. A man who had seen her in Paris before her
marriage told me long ago--oh, years ago--that she was extraordinarily
clever, and very ambitious."

"And beautiful?" said Helena eagerly.

"I don't know. I never saw a picture of her."