"Yes, he is here. He has taken Mrs. Van der Gucht—the American Petroleum Queen they call her, don't they?—down to supper. She wants him to paint her portrait, at his own price. He will be here to fetch me at half-past eleven. I believe we have to move on then."
"Move on?" he asked, with an air of mystification.
"Show ourselves at another house," she replied. "It's a convenient practice, you know; one gets two advertisements in one night. Besides, one saves one's self a little that way; one sometimes gets an evening off."
"You talk as if you were an actress," he said, with offended irony.
"I don't understand your tone. Does Miss Masters accompany you?"
"I think not. Did you say you wanted to see her?"
"Particularly; it is chiefly for that I am here."
"She is a very nice girl," remarked his sister gently. "I hope——" She hesitated slightly; then held out her hand to him, which involuntarily he clasped. "I hope you will have a satisfactory conversation, Charles."
He glanced at her for a moment silently, feeling a secret pleasure in her discrimination.
"You look very well," he said at last, "only rather tired. That is a very pretty dress."
She smiled vaguely.