THE LOVER
"They are most wonderful clothes—she is lucky, isn't she, Richard?"
Herbert beamed complacency. "She deserves it all," he said.
"I think she's getting handsomer every day."
"Happiness does a good deal for us all," said Herbert gallantly.
"By the way," said Cicely, winking across at Richard (an accomplishment he must have taught her), "look carefully round the room, Herbert, and see if you see anyone you know."
Herbert, who had taken Richard's place on the sofa and was sitting with his hands in his pockets and his legs stretched out, turned his head as far as his collar would permit and made an elaborate inspection of the chimney-piece, the whatnot, the piano-top.
"Very well she looks up there, too," he said, raising himself a little with arched back for a better view, then relapsing with a grunt of relief. He had seen what he expected, the portrait of his beloved looking out coyly at him from between two top-heavy vases. "Where did you get that, Cicely?"
"She brought it round herself, the day
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