Philip followed Evelyn to the billiard-room as soon as the women went upstairs, and found him alone there.
“The Hermit has gone to commune with Nature,” he said. “He will die of natural causes if he doesn’t look out. He called me a Pagan this morning, Philip. Wasn’t it rude? And the fact that it is true seems to me to make it ruder.”
Philip lit his cigarette.
“I’m going to be rude too, old chap,” said he. “Evelyn, you really mustn’t make a present of the portrait to Madge and me. It is awfully good of you, and just like you, but I simply couldn’t accept it.”
Evelyn shrugged his shoulders.
“Then there will be no portrait at all,” he said shortly. “I tell you I won’t paint it as an order.”
“I appreciate it tremendously,” he said. “It is most awfully good of you. But it’s your profession. Hullo, here’s the Hermit back.”
Tom Merivale entered at this moment.
“Aren’t we going to sit out to-night?” he said.