"Ah, so much the better. I want to see her."
"Do you?" she asked indifferently. "Well, you had better keep me company until she comes. It is a long time since I saw you."
He considered her for a moment with a heavy, fraternal appreciation.
"Yes," he said—"yes, it is a long time, Eve. But, of course, we have each our own occupations, our own duties now. And being the wife of a successful painter must involve almost as many as being—if I may say so—a fairly successful barrister. Gratified as we are, my dear—my mother and I—at the success of your marriage, which has proved more brilliant even than we hoped, I must say that we often regret having lost you. We are duller people, I fear, since you have left us. However, we can still think of the old days, as you, no doubt, do sometimes."
She gave a faint, little, elusive smile, behind her fan.
"Oh, I am afraid I have forgotten them," she said. Then she went on quickly, before he had time to reply: "Another thing, too, I had almost forgotten—to congratulate you—on Mr. Humphrey's death."
"My dear Eve!" He looked at her with some reproof, with an air of finding her a little crude. "You should not say such things, Eve! I deeply deplore——"
"Shouldn't I?" she asked flippantly. "Dick told me you were to succeed to his seat. Isn't it true?"
He ignored her question, busied himself with an obdurate button on his glove. She watched him over her fan, half smiling, with her brilliant eyes.
"You are cynical," he remarked at last. "I dare say I shall get in.
Is Lightmark here?"