‘She is very handsome, certainly.’

‘And clever?’

‘Decidedly clever.  I should think she has a temper of her own.’

’What woman is there worth a straw that has not?  If Clara Van Siever were ill-used, she would resent it.  I do not doubt that for a moment.  I should not like to be the man who would do it.’

‘Nor I, either,’ said Conway.

’But there is plenty of feminine softness in that character, if she were treated with love and kindness.  Conway, if you will take my advice you will ask Clara Van Siever to be your wife.  But perhaps you have already.’

‘Who; I?’

‘Yes; you.’

‘I have not done it yet, certainly, Mrs Broughton.’

‘And why should you not do it?’

’There are two or three reasons;—­but perhaps none of any great importance.  Do you know of none, Mrs Broughton?’

‘I know of none,’ said Mrs Broughton in a very serious—­in almost a tragic tone;—­’of none that should weigh for a moment.  As far as I am concerned, nothing would give me more pleasure.’

‘That is so kind of you!’

’I mean to be kind.  I do, indeed, Conway.  I know it will be better for you that you should be settled—­very much better.  And it will be better for me.  I do not mind admitting that;—­though in saying so I trust greatly to your generosity to interpret my words properly.’

‘I shall not flatter myself, if you mean that.’

’There is no question of flattery, Conway.  The question is simply of truth and prudence.  Do you not know that it would be better for yourself that you should be married?’

‘Not unless a certain gentleman were to die first,’ said Conway Dalrymple, as he deposited the last of his painting paraphernalia in the recess which had been prepared for them by Mrs Broughton.

‘Conway, how can you speak in that wicked, wicked way?’

’I can assure that I do not wish the gentleman in question the slightest harm in the world.  If his welfare depended on me, he should be safe as the Bank of England.’

‘And you will not take my advice?’

‘What advice?’

‘About Clara?’

‘Mrs Broughton, matrimony is a very important thing.’

’Indeed, it is;—­oh, who can say how important!  There was a time,
Conway, when I thought that you had given your heart to Madelina
Demolines.’

‘Heaven forbid!’

‘And I grieved, because I thought that she was not worthy of you.’

‘There was never anything in that, Mrs Broughton.’

’She thought that there was.  At any rate, she said so.  I know that for certain.  She told me so herself.  But let that pass.  Clara Van Siever is in every respect very different from Madalina.  Clara, I think, is worthy of you.  And Conway—­of course it is not for me to dictate to you; but this I must tell you—­’

‘What must you tell me?’