Keston by her Christian name. You know I have mentioned this
before." Then Malcolm reddened; but though he laughed, he was
inwardly annoyed.
"I spoke without thinking," he returned, trying to control his
impatience, "but I suppose habit was too strong for me. There is
really no harm in it, mother. You know Keston is my most intimate
friend--he is one of the best fellows in the world--and it stands to
reason that his wife should be my good friend too."
"Yes, but there are limits, Malcolm."
"Of course there are limits," rather irritably; "but if I were to
talk for ever I should never make you understand, mother. In the
first place, you have never seen Verity--I mean Mrs. Keston. She is
the product of a modern age. From babyhood she has lived among
artists. She has imbibed their Bohemianism and learnt to talk their
jargon. A studio has been her nursery, playroom, and schoolroom, and
as soon as she grew up she married an artist."
"But all this does not prove that she is not to be treated with the
respect due to a married woman, Malcolm."
"My dear mother, there is no question of respect.
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