Hastings, wondering at her acquaintance with the great Bouguereau, looked at her with respect. “May I ask,” he said diffidently, “whether you are a pupil of Bouguereau?”

“I?” she said in some surprise. Then she looked at him curiously. Was he permitting himself the liberty of joking on such short acquaintance?

His pleasant serious face questioned hers.

“ Tiens ,” she thought, “what a droll man!”

“You surely study art?” he said.

She leaned back on the crooked stick of her parasol, and looked at him. “Why do you think so?”

“Because you speak as if you did.”

“You are making fun of me,” she said, “and it is not good taste.”