It has hitherto occurred to nobody, however, to doubt
the appropriateness of the texts inscribed upon it, in
connection with three little French words which Elfrida,
in the charmingly apologetic letter which she left for
her parents, commanded to be put there--"_Pas
femme-artiste_." Janet, who once paid a visit to the
place, hopes in all seriousness that the sleeper underneath
is not aware of the combination.
Miss Kimpsey boards with the Bells now, and her relation
to them has become almost daughterly. The three are
swayed, to the extent of their several capacities, by
what one might call a cult of Elfrida--her death has
long ago been explained by the fact that a grandaunt of
Mrs. Bell's suffered from melancholia.
Mr. and Mrs, John Kendal's delightful circle of friends
say that they live an idyllic life in Devonshire. But
even in the height of some domestic joy a silence sometimes
falls between them still. Then, I fancy, he is thinking
of an art that has slipped away from him, and she of a
loyalty she could not hold. The only person whose equanimity
is entirely undisturbed is Buddha. In his place among
the mournful Magdalens of Mrs. Bell's drawing-room in
Sparta, Buddha still smiles.
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