"His name was Lord Dawn." Seeing the instant puckering of his brows, she asked quickly, "You knew him?"
"Knew him!" Tabs pondered the question. "I'm not sure. But Lady Dawn—I've heard a good deal about her. She had a nursing unit in France, didn't she? Of course she had; you and Terry were with her. It was in her hospital that Terry met Braithwaite. She passed me yesterday, driving with the Queen in the Park; not that I noticed her. It was Terry who did that." He came slowly over from the window to the fireplace and stood gazing level with
the picture above the mantelpiece. He spoke wonderingly, "The most beautiful woman in England, they say! So this is Lady Dawn!"
When he had finished his inspection, his interest and absorption were so great that he did what he had vowed he would never do again—he sat down for a second time on the couch beside her.
"There's something wrong," he said quietly. "Either you're misinformed or I'm mistaken. Let's get things straight."
She made no attempt to conceal her amusement. She attributed his seriousness to sudden infatuation—an infatuation which made him seem ridiculously inconstant after his recent professions concerning Terry.
"Something wrong!" she echoed mockingly. "If you think that I've exaggerated anything that I've told you about——" She glanced up at the portrait. "I don't think I'm likely to be misinformed. After all, I'm her——"
"I didn't mean that," he interrupted impatiently. "I was referring to Lord Dawn. If he's the same man, I think both you and she have misjudged him."
Maisie laughed. "Lord Dawn was sufficiently definite. I'm not misjudging him. He left no room for misjudgment."
"But you said that he had died hating her."