Her former husband took no notice. His eyes continued to travel about the room in the same uncertain searching way.
"Hardly anything," he repeated, still seemingly unaware of any presence in the room but his own. "That Raeburn, though—yes. That used to be in the dining-room, didn't it?" He passed his hand over his forehead, as if to brush away some haze of oblivion, and walked up to the picture.
"Wait a bit. It's in the place where the Sargent of Jim as a youngster used to hang—Jim on his pony. Just over my writing-table, so that I saw it whenever I looked up..." He turned to Pauline. "Jolly picture. What have you done with it? Why did you take it away?"
Pauline coloured, but a smile of conciliation rode gallantly over her blush. "I didn't. That is—Dexter wanted it. It's in his room; it's been there for years." She paused, and then added: "You know how devoted Dexter is to Jim."
Wyant had turned abruptly from the contemplation of the Raeburn. The colour in Pauline's cheek was faintly reflected in his own. "Stupid of me ... of course... Fact is, I was rather rattled when I came in, seeing everything so much the same... You must excuse my turning up in this way; I had to see you about something important... Hullo, Nona—"
"Of course I excuse you, Arthur. Do sit down—here by the fire. You must be cold after your wet journey ... so unseasonable, after the weather we've been having. Nona will ring for tea," Pauline said, with her accent of indomitable hospitality.
XXIX
NONA, that night, in her mother's doorway, wavered a moment and then turned back.
"Well, then—goodnight, mother."