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Updated: September 27, 2025
She had not seen Miss Van Tuyn since the evening in Soho, nor Braybrooke since his visit to Berkeley Square to tell her about his trip to Paris, but she had seen Craven three times, and each time alone. Their intimacy had deepened with a rapidity which now almost startled her as she thought of it, holding Braybrooke's unanswered note.
I am sure Suzanne would like him too." "Really, you quite rave about him!" said Miss Van Tuyn, with a light touch of sarcasm. But her eyes looked pleased, and that evening she was exceptionally kind to old Fanny. She had not yet brought Arabian and Alick Craven together. Somehow she shrank from that far more than she had shrunk from the test with Fanny.
Besides, she has been to many of the Paris cafes. She told me so." "It must have been a long time ago. And in Paris it is all so different. And you sat with them?" Craven recounted the tale of the previous evening. When he came to the Cafe Royal suggestion the world's governess looked really outraged. "Adela Sellingworth at the Cafe Royal!" he said. "How could Beryl Van Tuyn?
Lady Sellingworth listened to it as she looked down the long and narrow room now crowded with people. Beryl Van Tuyn was standing by a table near the wall. Lady Sellingworth saw her in profile. Her companion stood beside her with his back to the room.
"You are coming out of your shell, Adela! Better late than never!" said Lady Wrackley to Lady Sellingworth, while Miss Van Tuyn quietly collected the two young men, both of whom she knew, with her violet eyes. "I hear of you all over the place." She glanced penetratingly at Craven with her carefully made-up eyes, which were the eyes of a handsome and wary bird.
It was not his business to run after Beryl Van Tuyn, to interfere almost forcibly between her and another man, even if that man were a scoundrel. Miss Van Tuyn was a free agent. She had the right to choose her own friends, her own lovers.
He looked grave, sympathetic, almost reverential. His brown eyes held a tender expression of kindness. "Miss Van Tuyn! I did not know you were here." She saw Garstin smiling ironically. Arabian took her hand and pressed it. "I am glad to see you again." His look, his pressure, were full of ardent sympathy. "I have been thinking often of you and your great sorrow."
Besides, she liked Craven, and might grow to like him very much if she knew him better. She decided to know him better, much better, and wrote her letter to him. Craven had puzzled a little over the final sentence of that letter. There were two reasons for its apparently casual insertion. Miss Van Tuyn wished to whip Craven into alertness by giving his male vanity a flick.
Without being vulgarly curious, he somehow usually got to know almost everything. Beryl Van Tuyn would be just the wife for young Craven when she had settled down. She was too independent, too original, too daring, and far too conventional for Braybrooke's way of thinking. But he believed her to be really quite all right.
Francis Braybrooke began to speak about Paris, and again Miss Van Tuyn said that she would never rest till she had persuaded Lady Sellingworth to renew her acquaintance with that intense and apparently light-hearted city, which contains so many secret terrors. "You will come some day," she said, with a sort of almost ruthless obstinacy. "Why not?" said Lady Sellingworth.
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