"Quite true," said Christian. "So they did! And now they're going for you! But you never teased me, Larry."
"Thank God, I didn't!" said Larry; he had been glowering at his picture, but as he spoke he wheeled round, and sat down beside Christian on the long billiard-room sofa. "Christian, you know——" he began, stammering, and hesitating in a way that was unlike himself.
Christian interrupted him quickly.
"What shall you call the picture? I met Barty Mangan the other day, and he was asking me all sorts of questions about it."
"I shall call it 'Christian, dost thou hear them?'" said Larry, telling himself that the moment had come. "I was feeling that about you all the time—I mean when I was painting. Christian, you did hear them, didn't you? What were they saying? Did they say anything about me?"
He caught her hand and leaned to her, compelling her eyes to meet his; "Let her see into my heart!" he thought; "she will find only herself there!"
And just then the door opened, and old Evans appeared.
Larry released Christian's hand, and went red with rage up to the roots of his fair hair. What he thought of Evans' incursion was written so plainly on his face, that Christian, in that impregnable corner of her mind where dwelt her sense of humour, felt a bubble of laughter rise.
"You asked Mrs. Dixon, Miss, to see the picture," said Evans, with a sour look at Larry. "She's outside now."
"Come in, Dixie," called Christian, with a sensation of reprieve. Suspense had been trembling in the air round her; it trembled still, but Dixie would bring respite, if not calm.