Part 38 (1/2)
”Well, I don't know. He works night and day over these people--and he knows how to deal with them. Leave it to the Bowery or to the ladies in his congregation, and he might turn this government into a despotism without a single dissenting vote.”
”I believe you're right. By the way, you know he gave me that portrait of Father Speares to do for the church.”
”Glad to hear it. But I never understood his conversion, somehow.”
”Oh, I don't know. Men change like that every day.”
”But not for logic. I say, it happened shortly after Mariana left, didn't it?”
”I think so.”
”Heard anything of her?”
Nevins shook his head.
”Only what you know already,” he answered.
”Deuced little, then.”
”She came back, you know that, and went out West for a divorce. Then she married an a.s.s of an Englishman, named the Honorable Cecil somebody.”
”Good Lord! You've known that all these years?”
”Pretty nearly.”
”Why in the devil didn't you tell me before?”
Nevins shrugged his shoulders. ”My dear fellow, I don't feel the necessity to confide to you the secrets of my bosom.”
”I call that a sneak.”
”Why couldn't you find it out for yourself?”
”Because I don't go round diving into other people's affairs.”
”Neither do I,” responded Nevins, with dignity.
”How did you know, then?”
”It just came to me.”
”Humph!” retorted Ardly, suspiciously.
Nevins squeezed a trifle of white-lead on his palette. Then he rose and drew the cord attached to the shade beneath the skylight. After which he stood to one side, studying the canvas with half-closed eyes, and shaking his dissatisfied head. As he returned to his seat he brushed the mouth of a tube of paint with his trousers, and swore softly. At last he spoke.
”I know something else,” he volunteered, cautiously.
”About Mariana?”
”Yes.”