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There happened to be a letter from Paris in which the writer described a new play which had just been produced in an outlying theatre. Miss Van Tuyn read the account. She began reading in a casual mood, but almost immediately all her attention was grasped and held tight. She forgot where she was, let her cigarette go out, did not see Garstin when he came in from the street.
At this moment an electric bell sounded below. "There he is!" said Miss Van Tuyn, quickly giving back the card to Garstin, who dropped it into his pocket. "Do go down quickly and let him in, or he may think it is all a hoax and go away." The painter stood looking at her keenly, with his hands in his pockets and his strong, thin legs rather wide apart.
But the subsequent remark about Beryl Van Tuyn had added fuel to the fire, and the sharp jealousy of sensitive youth mingled with the feeling of injury. Craven had been hurt by the elderly woman. Was he now to be hurt by the girl? Braybrooke's news had made him feel really angry. Yet he knew he had no right to be angry.
And he went towards the door, leaving "our young friends" for a moment. "But what has she done to herself?" said Miss Van Tuyn. "Done! Lady Sellingworth?" "Yes. Or is it only her hair?" Craven wondered, too, as Lady Sellingworth joined them, accompanied by her host. For there was surely some slight, and yet definite, change in her appearance.
Even her face seemed to him in some way altered to-night, though he could not have told how. Certainly she looked younger than usual. He was positive of that: still positive when he saw her standing by Miss Van Tuyn and taking her hand. Then she turned to him and gave him a friendly and careless, almost haphazard, greeting, still smiling and looking ready for anything.
Music of that type makes youth feel that the world ought of right to belong to it, that the old are out of place in the regions of adventure, romance and passion. That they should not hang about where they are no longer wanted, like beggars about the door of a house in which happy people are feasting. "Such music is for me not for Adela Sellingworth," thought Miss Van Tuyn.
But please let me have the privilege. You have told me first of all of your grief. This is real friendship. Let me then be also friendly, and help you to recover yourself." "But really I must " "Four, Rose Tree Gardens! You know them?" "Yes, sir." "Good!" The taxi glided away from the kerb. And Miss Van Tuyn made no further protest.
"Miss Van Tuyn knows that you stole them!" Arabian drew in his breath sharply. His mouth opened wide. Sir Seymour turned and went out of the room. He shut the door behind him. In the little scented hall he caught up his coat and hat. He heard a door click. The dark man with the light grey eyes showed himself. "Keep away, you!" said Sir Seymour.
"Nonsense! Tell me at once!" "I can't! I simply cannot. Oh, my dear, get into a taxi and come back at once." "I insist on your telling me what is the matter!" said Miss Van Tuyn sharply. Her nerves were already on edge, and something in the sound of the voice through the telephone frightened her. "Tell me at once what it is! Now speak plainly!"
It was there that she visited out-of-the-way cafes, where clever men met and talked over every subject on earth. A place like the Cafe Royal in London had no attraction for the Lady Sellingworth over sixty. That sort of thing, raised to the nth degree, had been familiar to her years and years ago, before Beryl Van Tuyn and Enid Blunt had been in their cradles.
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