great picture in a massive frame, supported, on a table, by a small gilded easel. "To say nothing of their personal beauty! He's tremendously good-looking."
Rose glanced with an indulgent sigh at a representation of Tony Bream in all his splendour, in a fine white waistcoat and a high white hat, with a stick and gloves and a cigar, his orchid, his stature and his smile. "Ah, poor Julia's taste!"
"Yes," Dennis exclaimed, "one can see how he must have fetched her!"
"I mean the style of the thing," said Rose.
"It isn't good, eh? Well, you know." Then turning away from the picture, the young man added: "They'll be after that fellow!"
Rose faltered. "The people she fears?"
"The women-folk, bless 'em—if he should lose her."
"I daresay," said Rose. "But he'll be proof."
"Has he told you so?" Dennis smiled.
She met his smile with a kind of conscious bravado in her own. "In so many words. But he assures me he'll calm her down."
