“Really?  I wonder who wrote it.  I must ask him to dinner, if he’s respectable.  We never read critiques nowadays.  They’re so dreadfully rude to Academicians, you know—­always talking about ‘pot-boilers,’ and suggesting that they ought to retire on their laurels.  As if laurels were any good!  One can’t keep a carriage on laurels.”

“No, by Jove! it wouldn’t be good for the horses.  I say, though, Mrs. Dollond, is one supposed to go through all the rooms?”

“Oh yes,” replied the lady composedly; “all except the water-colours, and sculpture, and architecture.  One only goes there to flirt, as a rule.  Personally, I always get up the pictures from ‘Academy Notes,’ when I haven’t seen them at the studios, you know.  Yes; I should like some tea, please, since Mrs. Lightmark has deserted you.  Is that Lady Garnett with her?  What lovely white hair!  I wonder where she gets it.”

Lady Garnett shrugged her shoulders a little petulantly after she had made the ghost of a return to Mrs. Dollond’s airy greeting.

“My dear,” she said, turning to Eve confidentially, “may I confess to you that I am not altogether too fond of that woman?  Is she a great friend of yours, or don’t you know her well enough to abuse her?  I like the husband; he amuses me, though he is rather a bear.  Otherwise, I should not see very much of Mrs. Dollond, I promise you.”

Eve smiled at the thought of Mr. Dollond’s eccentricities, and then her face grew rather grave.

“Shall we go into the lecture-room?” she suggested.  “It is cooler there among the statues, and perhaps we shall be able to sit down.”

The old lady assented with alacrity.

“Yes,” she said; “by all means let us leave these painty pictures, and we will have a chat; you shall tell me of your wanderings.  Apropos, did you see anything of our friend Philip?  His last letter—­a long time ago; he is becoming a bad correspondent—­struck me as rather triste, even for him.  I’m afraid he is not well.”

“Yes,” said Eve slowly; “we went over to Bordighera one day while we were at Cannes, and we stayed a night at the hotel, but we didn’t see Mr. Rainham.  He had gone over to Monte Carlo.”

“Ah, poor fellow, what an idea!  I wonder what dragged him there.”

Eve looked at the old lady questioningly for a minute.

“I think he went with the Dollonds,” she answered gravely.

“Ah, my dear, no wonder his letter was dull!  Then you didn’t see him?  Well, I suppose he will come back soon.  You mustn’t be jealous of him, you know.  He is very much lie with your husband, isn’t he?”

“I don’t suppose he will see quite so much of him now.”

There seemed to be a trace of weariness in the girl’s voice as she answered, and Lady Garnett glanced at her sharply before she let her eyes continue their task of wandering in a kind of absent scrutiny of the sculptured exhibits in the room.