paper.'

'And how did you hear all that?' she asked.

'Oh, one hears everything! I don't live with my nose buried in a book
like you. That was all very well in the convent.'

'But what have I done that you should speak to me in that way?'

'Now, Alice dear,' said Mrs. Barton coaxingly, 'don't get angry. I
assure you Olive means nothing.'

'No, indeed, I didn't!' Olive exclaimed, and she forced her sister back
into the chair.

Arthur's attention had been too deeply absorbed in the serenade in _Don
Pasquale_ to give heed to the feminine bickering with which his studio
was ringing, until he was startled suddenly from his musical dreaming by
an angry exclamation from his wife.

The picture of the bathers, which Alice had seen begun, had been only
partially turned to the wall, and, after examining it for a few moments,
Mrs. Barton got up and turned the picture round. The two naked creatures
who were taking a dip in the quiet, sunlit pool were Olive and Mrs.
Barton; and so grotesque were the likenesses that Alice could not
refrain from laughing.

'This is monstrous! This is disgraceful, sir! How often have I forbidden
you to paint my face on any of your shameless pictures? And your
daughter, too--and just as she is coming out! Do you want to ruin us? I