She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. If you assume the character of a debtor for your own convenience, you must be content to maintain it for ours. Frequently she would doze in her chair; but the slightest movement on the bed aroused her.
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