How clever she was! how charming! What knowledge without a touch of pedantry! And how the handsome youth kept up with her--nay, rather, led her, with a mastery, a resource, to which she always yielded in case of any serious difference of opinion! It seemed that they had been abroad together--had seen many sights in each other's company--had many common friends.
Fenwick felt himself strangely sore and jealous as he listened.

Who was this man?
Some young aristocrat, no doubt, born silver spoon in mouth--one of your idle, insolent rich, with nothing to do but make a hobby of art, and patronise artists.

He loathed the breed.
Her voice startled him back from these unspoken tirades, and once more he found her eyes fixed upon him.

It provoked him to feel that their scrutiny made him self-conscious--anxious to please.

They were so gentle, so gay!--and yet behind the first expression there sat what seemed to him the real personality, shrewd, critical, and remote.
'You must see this picture,' she said, kindly.