sure that her father believed in his pictures, though he had just
declared they had all the beauties of Raphael and other beauties
besides. He had a trick of never appearing to thoroughly believe in them
and in himself. She listened interested and amused, not knowing how to
take him. She had been away at school for nearly ten years, coming home
for rare holidays, and was, therefore, without any real knowledge of her
parents. She understood her father even less than her mother; but she
was certain that if he were not a great genius he might have been one,
and she resolved to find out Lord Dungory's opinions on her father. But
the opportunity for five minutes quiet chat behind her mother's back did
not present itself. As soon as he arrived her mother sent her out of the
room on some pretext more or less valid, and at the end of the week the
gowns that had been ordered in Dublin arrived: ecstasy consumed the
house, and she heard him say that he would give a great dinner-party to
show them off.




VI


Arthur, who rarely dined out, handed the ladies into the carriage.

Mrs. Barton was beautifully dressed in black satin; Olive was lost in a
mass of tulle; Alice wore a black silk trimmed with passementerie and
red ribbons. Behind the Clare mountains the pale transitory colours of
the hour faded, and the women, their bodies and their thoughts swayed
together by the motion of the vehicle, listened to the irritating
barking of the cottage-dog. Surlily a peasant, returning from his work,