She had seen her mistake a moment afterwards, and just a moment too late, for Madge had asked the very simple question "Why?" And the unsatisfactory nature of her mother's reply had given her food for thought. For Lady Ellington had applauded as clever what was to her the very rudiment of honour, and she had supposed that her mother would say "How very stupid of you." Clearly, then, while extremely uncalculating to herself, Madge had succeeded in giving the impression of calculation to one who, she well knew, calculated. What, then, she asked herself, was the secret of this love of which she was ignorant, that rendered her confession of ignorance so satisfactory a reply? Effusive pleasure on her mother's part at the termination of this recital had not consoled her. Somehow, according to Lady Ellington's view, an almost quixotic honesty appeared clever. And it was over this riddle that she was puzzling when Evelyn appeared, with brilliance, so to speak, streaming from him. Brilliance certainly streamed from his half-finished sketch, and brilliance marked his exposition of it. "Oh, I lead a dog's life," he said, as he planted his easel down on the gravel. "Do you know Lady Taverner, for whom this is to be a background? No? I congratulate you. She is pink, simply pink, like a phlox, with butter-coloured hair, probably acquired. Well, put a pat of butter and a phlox on a purple plate, and you will see that the phlox is pinker than ever and the butter more buttery. Therefore, since I really am very thorough, I make a sketch of clematis to see how the flowers really grow, and shall plaster her with them--masses behind her, sapphires round her neck; and a pink Jewess in the middle," he added, in a tone of extraordinary irritation. Madge let her book slide to the ground. "Do you want to be talked to or not?" she asked. "If you don't, say so, and I will go away." Evelyn looked up from his purple clematis. "I lead a dog's life," he said, "but sometimes somebody throws me a bone. So throw me one." "You seem to growl over it," said she. "I know I do. That is because, though I lead a dog's life, nobody shall take my bone from me." He bit the end of his brush. "And the filthy thing casts purple shadows upwards," he said. "At least the sun shines on the purple, and reflects the purple on leaves that overhang it. I wish I had been born without any sense of colour. I should have made such ripping etchings." Madge had no immediate reply to this, and he painted for some ten minutes in silence. She had picked up her book again, and read the words of it--reading it could not be called. "You haven't given me many bones," said he at length. Madge looked up. "I know I haven't," she said; "but seriously I considered if I had got anything to say, and found I hadn't. So I decided to say nothing." Evelyn dabbed in a purple star.