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Plaisdell to hint about that Manet. And it's all for you. Now come into my room and tell me everything about it. You have got to stay for dinner." "No, no; I can't," Cornelia gasped. "And I'm not going to his studio. He asked me because he had to." "I should think he did have to. He talked to you as if there was no one else here. How did you meet him before? When did you?"
"Pymantoning," said Cornelia, eager to contribute something to the talk, and then vexed to have it made much of by Mr. Plaisdell. Wetmore was looking away. He floated lightly off, with the buoyancy which is sometimes the property of people of his bulk, and Ludlow remained talking with Charmian. Then, with what was like the insensible transition of dreams to her, he was talking with Cornelia.
"I'm afraid I didn't give her time," Ludlow answered. "Yes, but we were just speaking of you Mr. Plaisdell was!" said Charmian, with the injury still in her voice. "I didn't hear you speak of him," Cornelia said, with a vague flutter of her hands toward the teacups.
Plaisdell gave, in the first outburst, and caught nothing more of the talk which Charmian dropped, and then caught up again when the hand-clapping began. Some of the people went, and others came, with brief devoirs to Mrs. Maybough in the crepuscular corner where she sat.
"Not if I can help it. But I was driven to it, this time; the provocation was great." "I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Saunders at home, several years ago," Ludlow said in obedience to Charmian. "We had some very delightful friends in common, there old friends of mine at Pymantoning." "What a pretty name," said Mr. Plaisdell.
Plaisdell kept up his talk with Charmian, and she caught some words now and then that showed he was still speaking of his friend, or had recurred to him. "I'm rather dangerous when I get started on him. He's working out of his mannerisms into himself. He's a great fellow. I'm going to ask Mrs. Maybough." But he did not go at once.
Plaisdell has told me how ingeniously you treated one of your rooms that you took for a studio." Charmian answered with dark humility, "But a studio without a painter in it!" and there were some offers and refusals of compliment between them, which ended in his saying that he would like to see her studio, and her saying that Mrs. Maybough would always be glad to see him. Then he talked with Mrs.
He did not say anything to let her think he had changed his mind as to the wisdom of her coming to study art in New York; and she liked that; she should have hated him if he had. "Have you got that little Manet, yet?" Mr. Plaisdell broke in upon them. "I was telling Miss Maybough about it." "Yes," said Ludlow. "It's at my place. Why won't Miss Maybough and Miss Saunders come and see it?
I don't believe he can live through the week." "He'll have to live through several," said Cornelia; "You can excuse me when you go. He's very conceited, and he talks to you as if he were a thousand years old. I think Mr. Plaisdell is a great deal nicer. He doesn't treat you as if you were I don't know what!" The next day Cornelia found herself the object of rumors that filled the Synthesis.
She thought that he wanted her to ask him why, and she asked, "What are you waiting for?" "For two reasons. Do you want the real reason first?" he asked, smiling at her. She laughed. "No, the unreal one!" "Well, I doubt whether Mrs. Maybough wrote to me of her own inspiration, entirely. I suspect that Wetmore and Plaisdell have been working the affair, and I don't like that." "Well?"
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