“Sandy,” she said cheerfully, “come here and help me look over these sketches.”

“Any peaches among ’em?”

“Bushels.”

Cameron came with alacrity; Neville waited until Lily reluctantly resumed her seat; then he pushed back the easel, turned Valerie’s portrait to the wall, and quietly resumed his painting.

Art in any form was powerless to retain Cameron’s attention for very many consecutive minutes at a time; he grew restless, fussed about with portfolios for a little while longer, enlivening the tedium with characteristic observations.

“Well, I’ve got business down town,” he exclaimed, with great pretence of regret.  “Come on, Stephanie; we’ll go to the Exchange and start something.  Shall we?  Oh, anything—­from a panic to a bull-market!  I don’t care; go as far as you like.  You may wreck a few railroads if you want to.  Only I’ve got to go....  Awfully good of you to let me—­er—­see all these—­er—­interesting and er—­m-m-m—­things, Louis.  Glad I saw that dream of a peacherino, too.  What is she on the side?  An actorine?  If she is I’ll take a box for the rest of the season including the road and one-night stands....  Good-bye, Mrs. Collis!  Good-bye, Stephanie! Good-bye, Louis!—­I’ll come and spend the day with you when you’re too busy to see me.  Now, Stephanie, child!  It’s the Stock Exchange or the Little Church around the Corner for you and me, if you say so!”

Stephanie had duties at a different sort of an Exchange; and she also took her leave, thanking Neville warmly for the pleasure she had had, and promising to lunch with Lily at the Continental Club.

When they had departed, Lily said: 

“I suppose that is a portrait of your model, Valerie West.”

“Yes,” he replied shortly.

“Well, Louis, it is perfectly absurd of you to show so plainly that you consider our discovery of it a desecration.”

He turned red with surprise and irritation: 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean exactly what I say.  You showed by your expression and your manner that our inspection of the picture and our questions and comments concerning it were unwelcome.”

“I’m sorry I showed it....  But they were unwelcome.”

“Will you tell me why?”

“I don’t think I know exactly why—­unless the portrait was a personal and private affair concerning only myself—­”

“Louis!  Has it gone as far as that?”

“As far as what?  What on earth are you trying to say, Lily?”

“I’m trying to say—­as nicely and as gently as I can—­that your behaviour—­in regard to this girl is making us all perfectly wretched.”

“Who do you mean by ’us all’?” he demanded sullenly.

“Father and mother and myself.  You must have known perfectly well that father would write to me about what you told him at Spindrift House a month ago.”

“Did he?”