irrepressible verb; just at that moment, however, it was unexpected, and I answered that I did n't understand.
"That 's why he gives you flowers," she explained. But the explanation made the matter darker still, and Mrs. Ermine went on: "Isn't there some French proverb about paying one's court to the mother in order to gain the daughter? Eunice is the daughter, and you are the mother."
"And you are the grandmother, I suppose! Do you mean that he wishes me to intercede?"
"I can't imagine why else!" and smiling, with her wide lips, she stared at the flowers.
"At that rate you too will get your bouquet," I said.
"Oh, I have no influence! You ought to do something in return—to offer to paint his portrait."
"I don't offer that, you know; people ask me. Besides, you have spoiled me for common models!"
It strikes me, as I write this, that we had gone rather far—farther than it seemed at the time. We might have gone farther yet, however, if at this moment Eunice had not come back with Mr. Caliph, who appeared to have settled his little matter of business briskly enough. He remained the man of business to the end, and, to Mrs. Ermine's evident disappointment, declined to sit down again. He was in a hurry; he had an engagement.
"Are you going up or down? I have a carriage at the door," she broke in.
