"All right. Came to ask for news, that's all."
"News? Ah, I understand. There's no news."
"Still reflecting?"
"Yes. Keeping away, just to see how I like it. Sensible that, don't you think?"
Warburton nodded. The conversation did not promise much vivacity, for Franks looked tired, and the visitor seemed much occupied with his own thoughts. After a few words about a canvas which stood on the easel—another woman the artist was boldly transforming into loveliness—Will remarked carelessly that he had spent the day at Ashtead.
"By Jove, I ought to go and see those people," said Franks.
"Better wait a little, perhaps," returned the other with a smile. "Miss Elvan is with them."
"Ah! Lucky you told me—not that it matters much," added Franks, after a moment's reflection, "at all events as far as I'm concerned. But it might be a little awkward for her. How long is she staying?"
Will told all he knew of Miss Elvan's projects. He went on to say that she seemed to him more thoughtful, more serious, than in the old time; to be sure, she had but recently lost her father, and the subduing influence of that event might have done her good.
"You had a lot of talk?" said Franks.