'Don't let us go into that, Miss Yeo. Of course, Hyacinth is a
beautiful--responsibility. People seem to think she ought to have gone
on living with us when she left school. But how was it possible?
Hyacinth said she intended to live for her art, and Lady Cannon couldn't
stand the scent of oils.' He glanced round the large panelled-oak room
in which not a picture was to be seen. The only indication of its having
ever been meant for a studio was the north light, carefully obstructed
(on the grounds of unbecomingness) by gently-tinted draperies of some
fabric suggesting Liberty's. 'Life wasn't worth living, trying to keep
the peace!'

'But you must have missed her?'

'Still, I prefer coming to see her here. And knowing she has you with
her is, after all, everything.'

He looked a question.

'Yes, she has. I mean, she seems rather--absorbed again lately,' said
Anne.

'Who is it?' he asked. 'I always feel so indiscreet and treacherous
talking over her private affairs like this with you, though she tells me
everything herself. I'm not sure it's the act of a simple, loyal,
Christian English gentleman; in fact, I'm pretty certain it's not. I
suppose that's why I enjoy it so much.'

'I daresay,' said Anne; 'but she wouldn't mind it.'

'What has been happening?'