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Rh Olga at home, and recounted, without loving any of the substance, the sarcasms of Lucia, and his own amazing tact and forbearance. He did not comment, he just narrated the facts in the vivid Riseholme manner, and waited for his reward.

Olga looked at him a moment in silence: then she deliberately wiped her eyes.

“Oh, poor Mrs Lucas!” she said. “She must have been miserable to have behaved like that! I am so sorry. Now what else can you do, Georgie, to make her feel better?”

“I think I’ve done everything that could have been required of me,” said Georgie. “It was all I could do to keep my temper at all. I will give my party at Christmas, because I promised you I would.”

“Oh, but it’s ten days to Christmas yet,” said Olga. “Can’t you paint her portrait, and give it her for a present. Oh, I think you could, playing the Moonlight Sonata.”

Georgie felt terribly inclined to be offended and tell Olga that she was tired of him: or to be dignified and say he was unusually busy. Never had he shown such forbearance towards downright rudeness as he had shown to Lucia, and though he had shown that for Olga’s sake, she seemed to be without a single spark of gratitude, but continued to urge her request.

“Do paint a little picture of her,” she repeated. “She would love it, and make it young and interesting. Think over it, anyhow: perhaps you’ll think of something better than that. And now