Six more months passed, and Yvonne began to weary of the strain of self-improvement. The sterner side of the Canon’s character showed itself in a hundred little ways. Small censurings became frequent, praise difficult to obtain. With the Canon’s gracious consent, she despatched at last an invitation to Geraldine, who had already paid her a visit in the spring. But that was in the days of her happiness. Geraldine came, and her keen wit very soon penetrated the situation. Yvonne had been too loyal to complain. “You’ve just got to tell me all about it,” she said in her determined fashion. It was their first evening, after dinner, as soon as the Canon had gone down to his library. “All about what, Dina?” asked Yvonne. “Oh, don’t pretend not to know. You were as happy as a bird when I was here last, and now you don’t open your mouth.” “I think I want a change,” said Yvonne. “I am getting too respectable. At first, you see, everything was new, and now I have got used to it. I think if I could run about London by myself for a month, and sing at lots of concerts, it would do me good. And oh, Dina--I should so much like to hear a man say ‘damn’ again!” “Well, I’m not a man, but I’ ll say it for you--damn, damn, damn. Now do you feel better?” “Oh, you look so funny as you say it!” cried Yvonne, with a laugh. “I wish it was something artistic and you could teach it to the Canon.” “It strikes me, if I were to set about it, I could teach the Canon a good many things. First of all, what a treasure he has got--which he does n’t seem quite aware of.” “Oh, Dina, you mustn’t say that,” said Yvonne, looking shocked. “He is all kindness and indulgence--really, dear. If I feel dull, it is because I am wicked and hanker after frivolous things--Van, for instance, and a comic song. Do you know you have n’t once spoken about Van?” “Oh, don’t talk of Van,” said Miss Vicary; “I am getting tired of him. He never knows his mind three days together. If I was n’t a fool I would give him up for good and all.” “But why don’t you marry and make an end of it?” asked Yvonne. “I don’t understand.” “Ask Van. Don’t ask me. There’s somebody else now. Elsie Carnegie, of all people.” “Poor Dina.” “Oh, not at all. Dina is not going to break her heart over Van’s infidelities. I’m quite content as I am. Only I’m a fool--there! I ’ve never told you I was a fool before, Yvonne. That’s because you are so sedate and respectable. I’m getting to venerate you.” “I should like to talk to him seriously about it--for his good.” “Oh, heavens, my child, he’d be falling in love with you again and having the whole artillery of the Church about his ears!” Yvonne laughed gaily. The talk was doing her good. Geraldine’s forcible phraseology was a tonic after the politer accents of Fulminster. They drifted away unconsciously from the main subject upon which they had started. Geraldine had many things to tell of the doings in the musical world.