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It was invariably the same, and never was the olive branch rejected for a moment by his long-suffering wife. Hers was the dog-like fidelity which men of Duveen's pattern have the gift of inspiring in women, and had he been haled to the felon's dock she would gladly and proudly have stood beside her man. So the years stole by, and Flamby crept nearer to womanhood and closer to her father's heart.
Chumley stood upon a platform of Victoria Station looking after a train from which protruded a forest of waving hands. Somewhere amongst them was the hand of Don, but because of that uncomfortable mistiness which troubled her sight at times, Flamby was quite unable to distinguish anything clearly. "Damn the German pigs," she said under her breath. "Did I hear you swearing, dear?" asked Mrs.
"He believes his present circumstances, or Karma, to be due to a number of earlier incarnations devoted to the pursuit of knowledge." "Do you think if that was true he would make so many mistakes about people?" asked Flamby, and her voice had not yet recovered entire steadiness. "I have told you that he is not a magician, Flamby, but you have still to tell me why you wanted to see Orlando James."
"Oh, I'm so glad you think so," said Flamby, and her voice was rather tremulous. "I loved mother more than anything in the world, but I hate to be reminded that she is dead by everybody who looks at me." Don grasped her hand and tucked it confidently under his arm. "Your father was a wise man. Never be ashamed of following his advice, Flamby. May I call you Flamby?
For the first time within her memory she realised that Bluebell Hollow was a very lonely spot. "You daren't hit me," she said, rather breathlessly. "I'd play hell." "I don't want to hit you," replied Fawkes, still advancing; "but you're goin' to pay for that kick." "I'll pay with another," snapped Flamby, her fiery nature reasserting itself momentarily.
That Paul had grasped the Absolute Key she could not doubt, but it seemed to Flamby that he had given life to something which had lain dormant, occult, for untold ages, that he had created a thing which already had outgrown his control. In art, literature and music disciples proclaimed themselves.
A harsh critic might have said that her mouth was too large; but no man of flesh and blood would have quarrelled with such lips as Flamby's. She was below medium height, but shaped like a sylph and had the airy grace of one. As Paul stood regarding her he found wonder to be growing in his mind, for such wild roses as Flamby are rare enough in the countryside, as every artist knows.
What I did was no more than the duty of a stretcher-bearer." Mrs. Duveen shook her head, smiling wanly, the thin hand pressed to her breast. "I'm sorry you couldn't meet Flamby, sir," she said. "She should have been home before this." "No matter," replied Don. "I shall look forward to meeting her on my next visit." They took their departure, Mrs.
"I thought I was paying you a compliment, but perhaps it's a sore point. Where's the flaw, kid?" "The flaw?" "Yes, what is it knotty knees? It certainly isn't thick ankles." Flamby had much ado to preserve composure; momentarily her thoughts became murderous.
"But Lady Daphne is an exception. I am only surprised that she did not want a pose which rendered her immediately recognisable." "She did," drawled James, "but I didn't." "Was she really an ideal model or did you induce her to pose just to please your colossal vanity?" "My dear Flamby, it is next to impossible to find a flawless model among the professionals.
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