Still Elizabeth did not mention having met Melchior that evening. It certainly was very odd. He felt worried about it—more worried than he knew he had any right to be.
When he left the room a little later, Hatty said, screwing up her short-sighted eyes at her friend, "How he has got to hate this Jewish Mecænas! It is a pity."
"It is a pity," echoed Elizabeth, but without conviction in her tone.
"I am persuaded I know the reason."
"Do you?"
"Yes, Lizzie. It is because he thinks the man admires you."
Elizabeth tried to laugh; but the laugh sounded very hollow to her sharp-eared listener.
"I can't fancy a worse reason. Your mind, dear little Hatty, runs riot, since you have been shut up so long. The 'Jewish Mecænas,' as you call him, is a contemptible creature, and your brother knows it. That is the long and the short of his dislike."
Then she began to talk of the sunset, and Hatty wisely refrained from returning to a subject which she saw was distasteful to her friend.
Melchior came to his sitting the next morning, ready primed. He was resolved to learn one thing before he returned to Paris, and he could only learn it from Baring. He talked a great deal, and upon indifferent matters for some time. At last, as the sitting drew near its close—
"Have you known Miss Shaw long?" he suddenly asked.
