memory of dear old innocent days—­had high principles; and the reader will see that she was justified in her declaration.  ‘It will be better so,’ said Mrs Broughton, as she sat upon her bed and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.  ’Yes; it will be better so.  There is a pang.  Of course there’s a pang.  But it will be better so.’  Acting upon this high principle, she allowed Conway Dalrymple five minutes to say what he had to say to Clara Van Siever.  Then she allowed herself to indulge in some very savage feelings in reference to her husband—­accusing her husband in her thoughts of great cruelty—­nay, of brutality, because of certain sharp words that he had said as to Conway Dalrymple.  ’But of course he can’t understand,’ said Mrs Broughton to herself.  ’How is it to be expected that he should understand?’

But she allowed her friend on this occasion only five minutes, thinking probably that so much time might suffice.  A woman, when she is jealous, is apt to attribute to other woman with whom her jealousy is concerned, both weakness and timidity, and to the man both audacity and strength.  A woman who has herself taken perhaps twelve months in the winning, will think that another woman is to be won in five minutes.  It is not to be supposed that Mrs Dobbs Broughton had ever been won by anyone except Mr Dobbs Broughton.  At least, let it not be supposed that she had ever acknowledged a spark of love for Conway Dalymple.  But nevertheless there was enough of jealousy in her present mood to make her think poorly of Miss Van Siever’s capacity for standing a siege against the artist’s eloquence.  Otherwise, having left the two together with the object which she had acknowledged to herself, she would hardly have returned to them after so short an interval.

‘I hope you won’t dislike the trouble of all this?’ said Dalrymple to his model, as soon as Mrs Broughton was gone.

‘I cannot say that I like it very much,’ said Miss Van Siever.

‘I’m afraid it will be a bore;—­but I hope you’ll go through with it.’

‘I shall if I am not prevented,’ said Miss Van Siever.  ’When I’ve said that I’ll do a thing, I like to do it.’

There was a pause in the conversation which took up a considerable portion of the five minutes.  Miss Van Siever was not holding her nail during those moments, but was sitting in a commonplace way on her chair, while Dalrymple was scraping his palette.  ’I wonder what it was that first induced you to sit?’ said he.

‘Oh, I don’t know.  I took a fancy for it.’

’I’m very glad you did take the fancy.  You’ll make an excellent model.  If you won’t mind posing again for a few minutes—­I will not weary you today.  Your right arm a little more forward.’

‘But I should tumble down.’

‘Not if you lean well on the nail.’

‘But that would have woken Sisera before she had struck a blow.’

‘Never mind.  Let us try it.’  Then Mrs Broughton returned, with that pleasant feeling in her bosom of having done her duty as a wife, friend, and a Christian.  ‘Mrs Broughton,’ continued the painter, ’just steady Miss Van Siever’s shoulder with your hand; and now bring the arm and the elbow a little more forward.’