"
His ridiculous modesty--Jack's modesty about his pictures? My
curiosity was growing like the bean-stalk. I said persuasively to my
hostess: "I must really see your portrait, you know."
She glanced out almost timorously at the terrace where her husband,
lounging in a hooded chair, had lit a cigar and drawn the Russian
deerhound's head between his knees.
"Well, come while he's not looking," she said, with a laugh that
tried to hide her nervousness; and I followed her between the marble
Emperors of the hall, and up the wide stairs with terra-cotta nymphs
poised among flowers at each landing.
In the dimmest corner of her boudoir, amid a profusion of delicate
and distinguished objects, hung one of the familiar oval canvases,
in the inevitable garlanded frame. The mere outline of the frame
called up all Gisburn's past!
Mrs. Gisburn drew back the window-curtains, moved aside a
_jardiniere_ full of pink azaleas, pushed an arm-chair away, and
said: "If you stand here you can just manage to see it.
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