to have been the most extraordinary lack of openings—I never saw anything like it—for a year. They've had their hand on him, keeping him all ready. I dare say they've telegraphed to him."
"And he hasn't told you?"
Lady Agnes hesitated. "He's so odd when he's abroad!"
"At home, too, he lets things go," Grace interposed. "He does so little—takes no trouble." Her mother suffered this statement to pass unchallenged, and she pursued, philosophically: "I suppose it's because he knows he's so clever."
"So he is, dear old boy. But what does he do, what has he been doing, in a positive way?"
"He has been painting."
"Ah, not seriously!" Lady Agnes protested.
"That's the worst way," said Peter Sherringham. "Good things?"
Neither of the ladies made a direct response to this, but Lady Agnes said: "He has spoken repeatedly. They are always calling on him."
"He speaks magnificently," Grace attested.
"That's another of the things I lose, living in far countries. And he's doing the Salon now, with the great Biddy?"
"Just the things in this part. I can't think what keeps them so long," Lady Agnes rejoined. "Did you ever see such a dreadful place?"
Sherringham stared. "Aren't the things good? I had an idea—"
"Good?" cried Lady Agnes. "They're too odious, too wicked."
