"An old friend of yours has just come in to see my Van Decken," he said quietly. His eyes were slightly quizzical.
"I took him along to have some tea. I've left him with the Fentons; they can prepare him for the . . . shock."
"Maryon! You're outrageous!" she protested.
"I imagined. I was showing great consideration, seeing I've no cause to bear Mallory any overwhelming goodwill."
"I thought you had only met him once or twice?"
Rooke looked down at her with an odd expression.
"True--in the old days, only once. At your flat. But we've knocked up against each other several times since then. And Mrs. Van Decken asked him to come and see her portrait."
"You and he can have very little in common," observed Nan carelessly.
"Nothing"--promptly--"except the links of art. I've always been true in my art--if in nothing else. Besides, all's grist that comes to Mallory's mill. He regards me as a type. Ah!"--as the door opened once more--"here they come."
Her throat contracted with nervousness and she felt that it would be a physical impossibility for her to speak. She turned mechanically as Penelope re-entered the room, followed by her husband and Peter Mallory. Uppermost in Nan's mind was the thought, to which she clung as to a sheet-anchor, that of the three witnesses to this meeting between Peter and herself, the Fentons were ignorant of the fact that she cared for him, and Maryon, whatever he might suspect, had no certain knowledge.
The dreaded ordeal was quickly over. A simple handshake, and in a few moments they were all five chatting together, Mrs. Van Decken's portrait prominent in the conversation.
Mallory had altered in some indefinable way. In the fugitive glances she stole at him Nan could see that he was thinner, his face a trifle worn-looking, and the old whimsical light had died out of his eyes, replaced by a rather bitter sadness.
"You'd better come and dine with us to-night, Mallory," said Fenton, pausing as they were about to leave. "Penelope and I are due at the Albert Hall later on, but we shall be home fairly early and you can entertain Nan in our absence. It's purely a ballad concert, so she doesn't care to go with us--it's not high-brow enough!"--with a twinkle in Nan's direction.