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"Forget his audience! The praise of my eyes!" She read the
compliment over again almost despairingly. "Yet he doesn't really think
me an idiot," she ended. She had made up her mind to forgive him his
habit of playing to the gallery, but he need not treat her as though she
sat there. She felt able to understand the dumb and bewildered reproach
which fronted her in her sister Fanny's face, but found spoken expression
only in the news that Fanny had had a letter from Lady Richard.
The next day she went to see Miss Quisante; the paying of this visit had
been in her mind from the first moment she left Ashwood. In the little
flat's narrow passage she had to squeeze by a short, stout, dark man,
dressed with much elaboration; Miss Quisante explained afterwards that he
was a sort of cousin of her own and Sandro's.
"His name is Mandeville," she said. "His father's was Isaacs. You knew we
had Jewish relations?"
"I thought it not improbable."
"I suppose we've got some of the blood, and some of it's a very good
thing," pursued Aunt Maria.


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