"Come, Victor! you ought to have said you didn't know!"
I coloured, and then laughed.
"Ah, yes; so I ought. Well, really, I answered you in absence of
mind."
"Oh, don't apologise! Let's sit down."
I glanced at her face. It was white to the lips which laughed so
readily. I looked round desperately. The lounge behind was filled
completely before the most successful picture of the year.
"Let us try another room," I said, hastily drawing her arm more
through mine. It leant heavily there, and she grew more pallid.
"They are all alike--I can't stand the heat--we must go, I think,"
she murmured.
"It doesn't seem very easy," I said.
Lucia threw a helpless glance round on the crown pressing up eagerly
to catch a glimpse of the popular painting, and some one in artistic
circles recognised her.
A whisper went from one to the other of the little sets within the
crowd, and they fell back from us; heads were turned from the canvas
towards Lucia. There was an exit made, and I walked determinedly
through the staring loungers, who yielded before us.
A voice said behind us,--
"They say she'll be the greatest artist of the times!"
"How I envy her!" came a girl's answer.
Lucia's blue-white lips smiled mockingly.
"Take me home, Victor," she said, faintly.
. . . . .
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