Sylvia felt penitent for having abandoned Arthur so completely since they had arrived in England, and she told him she would go back with him that very afternoon.
“Oh, but Miss Scarlett,” protested Lucian, “don’t you remember? We arranged to explore Limehouse to-morrow.”
Arthur looked at the painter very much as if he were indeed the gollywog for which he had just been taken.
“I don’t want to interfere with previous arrangements,” he said, with such a pathetic haughtiness that Sylvia had not the heart to wound his dignity, and told Lucian Hope that the expedition to Limehouse must be postponed. The young painter looked disconsolate and Arthur blossomed from his fading. However, Lucian had the satisfaction of saying, in a mysterious voice, to Sylvia before he went:
“Well, then, while you’re away I’ll get on with it.”
It was not until they were half-way to Dulwich in the train that Arthur asked Sylvia what he was going to get on with.
“My scene,” she said.
“What scene?”
“Arthur, don’t be stupid. The set for my show.”
“You’re not going to let a youth like that paint a set for you? You’re mad. What experience has he had?”