"Why, the studio, of course--" She flung her cloak open, as if to attest
her veracity. "The sitting lasted longer than usual--there was something
about the dress he couldn't get--"
"But I thought he was giving a tea."
"He had tea afterward; he always does. And he asked some people in to
see my portrait. That detained me too. I didn't know they were coming,
and when they turned up I couldn't rush away. It would have looked as
if I didn't like the picture." She paused and they gave each other a
searching simultaneous glance. "Who told you it was a tea?" she asked.
"Clare Van Degen. I saw her at my mother's."
"So you weren't unconsoled after all--!"
"The nurse didn't get any message. My people were awfully disappointed;
and the poor boy has cried his eyes out."
"Dear me! What a fuss! But I might have known my message wouldn't be
delivered. Everything always happens to put me in the wrong with your
family."
With a little air of injured pride she started to go to her room; but he
put out a hand to detain her.
"You've just come from the studio?"
"Yes. It is awfully late? I must go and dress. We're dining with the
Ellings, you know."
"I know... How did you come? In a cab?"
She faced him limpidly. "No; I couldn't find one that would bring me--so
Peter gave me a lift, like an angel. I'm blown to bits. He had his open
car."
Her colour was still high, and Ralph noticed that her lower lip twitched
a little. He had led her to the point they had reached solely to be able
to say: "If you're straight from the studio, how was it that I saw you
coming down from Morningside?"
Unless he asked her that there would be no point in his
cross-questioning, and he would have sacrificed his pride without
a purpose. But suddenly, as they stood there face to face, almost
touching, she became something immeasurably alien and far off, and the
question died on his lips.
"Is that all?" she asked with a slight smile.
"Yes; you'd better go and dress," he said, and turned back to his room.