Cecilia's hearing was too excellent to miss the tone of Hilary's reply:

"Oh, thank you; I don't think so."

"I fancied perhaps you might feel that our Society---hers is an
unsatisfactory profession for young girls!"

Cecilia saw the back of Hilary's neck grow red. She turned her head
away.

"Of course, there are many very nice models indeed," said the voice of
Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace. "I don't mean that they are necessarily at
all--if they're girls of strong character; and especially if they don't
sit for the--the altogether."

Hilary's dry, staccato answer came to Cecilia's ears: "Thank you; it's
very kind of you."

"Oh, of course, if it's not necessary. Your wife's picture was so
clever, Mr. Dallison--such an interesting type."

Without intention Cecilia found herself before that picture. It stood
with its face a little turned towards the wall, as though somewhat in
disgrace, portraying the full-length figure of a girl standing in deep
shadow, with her arms half outstretched, as if asking for something. Her
eyes were fixed on Cecilia, and through her parted lips breath almost
seemed to come. The only colour in the picture was the pale blue of
those eyes, the pallid red of those parted lips, the still paler brown
of the hair; the rest was shadow. In the foreground light was falling as
though from a street-lamp.