"Everybody comes to see our friend here," he continued, with a
slight gesture of his hand towards their host, who had moved
away,--"because he is the fashion. If he were NOT the fashion he
might paint like Velasquez or Titian and no one would care a
button!"

He seemed entertained by his own talk, and she did not interrupt
him.

"You look like a stranger here," he went on, in milder accents--"a
sort of elf who has lost her way out of fairyland! Is anyone with
you?"

"Yes," she answered, quickly--"Miss Leigh--"

"Miss Leigh? Who is she? Your aunt or your chaperone?"

She was more at her ease now, and laughed at his quick, brusque
manner of speech.

"Miss Leigh is my godmother," she said--"I call her my fairy
godmother because she is always so good and kind. There she is,
standing by that big easel."

He looked in the direction indicated.

"Oh yes!--I see! A charming old lady! I love old ladies when they
don't pretend to be young. That white hair of hers is very
picturesque! So she is your godmother!--and she takes care of you!
Well! She might do worse!"