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Miss Van Tuyn wondered again whether he had ever heard of Leonardo. Garstin mentioned some Paris painters of the past, but of more recent times than those of the grand old Italians, spoke of Courbet, of Manet, of Renoir, Guilaumin, Sisley, the Barbizon school, Cezanne and his followers.
Miss Van Tuyn's keen though still girlish eyes looked sharply into Craven's for an instant. "I believe you men, you modern men are very apt to think terrible things about women," she said. Craven warmly defended himself against this abrupt accusation. "Well, but what did you mean?" persisted Miss Van Tuyn. "Now, go against your sex and be truthful for once to a woman."
Miss Van Tuyn thought of the previous evening, when Lady Sellingworth had dined with Craven while she had dined with Arabian, and she was stung to the quick. "I cannot allow you to speak like this of a friend of mine without an explanation," she said bitterly. "And now" she spoke more hurriedly, as if fearing to be interrupted "I will finish what I was going to say, if you will allow me.
Probably, indeed almost certainly, she would have refused the invitation but for the last three sentences about Beryl Van Tuyn. She did not want to see the girl again, for she could not help hating her. She had, of course, sent a note of sympathy to Claridge's, and had received an affectionate reply, which she had torn up and burnt after reading it.
As she was looking down she did not see something which just then happened in the room. It was this: Miss Van Tuyn, who had not said a word to Arabian of her friends who were dining by the window, although she guessed that he had probably noticed Alick Craven when they came in, resolved to take a bold step. It was useless any longer to play for concealment.
She broke off, and sat down on a sofa abruptly, almost as if her limbs had given way under her. "I quite understand that. I've just been with the fellow." Miss Van Tuyn started up. "You've seen him?" "Yes." "Where? Here?" "I went to Mr. Garstin's studio to have a look at the portrait and say a word to him. While I was there Arabian called. I stayed on and sat with him for some time.
For Lady Sellingworth was his friend. He had known her for many years, whereas Craven and Beryl Van Tuyn were comparatively new-comers in his life. And yet he was engaged in something not quite unlike a conspiracy against this old friend. Craven had said she was lonely. Perhaps that was true. Women who lived by themselves generally felt lonelier than men in a like situation.
I believe she will come if you tell her I and Mr. Craven make up the rest of the party. We all got on so well together in Soho." "I will certainly ask her," said Braybrooke. What else could he say? At the corner of Berkeley Square Miss Van Tuyn stopped and rather resolutely bade him good-bye. When Braybrooke was alone he felt almost tired out.
"Take care of her, Arabian." She sent him a look full of intense and hostile inquiry. He met it with a half-amused smile. "I shall do better now," he said. "Ah?" said Arabian, looking polite and imperturbable. "Come along!" said Miss Van Tuyn. "It must be getting late." As she spoke a clock in the room began striking five. For a moment she felt confused and almost ill.
She should not take him up and use him merely as a means to amusement without any care for what was due to him. Lady Sellingworth was old, and in a sense famous. Such a woman could do as she pleased. With her, protest would be ridiculous. But he would find a way with Beryl Van Tuyn. On that day and the next Craven did not see Miss Van Tuyn. No message came to him from Lady Sellingworth.
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