This time, the purpose was carried out. Franks returned a little after midnight, and was surprised to find Rosamund sitting in the studio. A friend had looked in late in the evening, she said, and had stayed talking.
"All about her husband's pictures, so tiresome? She thinks them monuments of genius!"
"His last thing isn't half bad," said Franks, good-naturedly.
"Perhaps not. Of course I pretended to think him the greatest painter of modern times. Nothing else will satisfy the silly little woman. You found Mr. Warburton?"
Franks nodded, smiling mysteriously.
"I have news for you."
Knitting her brows a little his wife looked interrogation.
"He's going to be married. Guess to whom."
"Not to—?"
"Well—?"