Rosaleen had not been warned. She had come directly from the restaurant,
in her threadbare suit and her faded black hat. And to be ushered into
the midst of a chattering party of twelve or fifteen people was a
terrible ordeal to her. She turned quite pale; she stood in the doorway,
drawing off her gloves and smiling nervously. At first she didn’t quite
grasp it....
It startled her, too, for Miss Waters to address her as “Mrs. Iverson,”
and to present her so. At first she saw only one familiar face, and that
was Miss Mell’s, the same, stout, bespectacled friend of the old studio
days. And then suddenly she caught sight of a face from a nightmare....
Surely that lady who had sat in the Humberts’ kitchen....
She was hurried forward by Miss Waters, and Mrs. Lawrence Iverson was
presented to Mrs. Allanby. Who instantly recognised her. And to Miss
Caroline Allanby, who at once knew that this was the person who had
beguiled Nick.... And Nick, who was standing behind them, and Miss
Waters, both saw immediately that the experiment had failed. The two
ladies didn’t care a fig for the wife of the distinguished artist; they
greeted her politely, but with unmistakable chilliness. There was more
in this than met the eye! They had suspected _something_ when Nick had
been so insistent about bringing them to this “studio party.”
There were three lively rings at the door bell, and Miss Waters was glad
to hasten away to admit the latest comer. It was Miss Gosorkus, more
friendly, more exuberant than ever before. She beamed at everyone and
sat down at the side of Dodo Mell.
“Hello, Mell!” she cried. “How are you? I haven’t seen you for ages upon
ages!... Do you remember the larks we used to have up in your old
studio?”
Miss Mell had never been enthusiastic regarding Miss Gosorkus; she
remembered what a great nuisance she had been; she answered with
moderation.
“And doesn’t it seem sort of sad?” Miss Gosorkus went on. “Enid gone to
live abroad, and poor Lawrence Iverson gone!”
Everyone heard her; everyone looked up with interest. Dodo tried to
whisper a warning, but it was not heard.
“You heard, didn’t you?” she went on. “It was the saddest thing! You
know, of course, that the poor man went blind. And then, my dear, that
heartless, awful woman he’d married deserted him. I believe she ran off
with another man.”
“Shut up!” whispered Dodo. “Don’t you _see_ her?”
“Who?” asked Miss Gosorkus aloud, her babyish eyes searching the room.
She didn’t recognise Rosaleen, even as a vaguely familiar face.
“And after that,” she continued, “the poor man went to Paris, and he was
run over by a taxi. He’s been dead five years.”