"'Hast thou forgotten me?' You hungered for Paris and Art and the joyous life. Well, I'm ready. I want you. Paris, too, is waiting, and a good cuisine in a cheery menage. Sup with me at the Garrick, and I'll tell you. Come along. Quis separabit?"
"I have to wait for Mrs. Gasgoyne—and Delia."
"Delia! Delia! Goddess of proprieties, has it come to that!"
He saw a sudden glitter in Gaston's eyes, and changed his tone.
"Well, an' a man will he will, and he must be wished good-luck. So, good-luck to you! I'm sorry, though, for that cuisine in Paris, and the grand picnic at Fontainebleau, and Moban and Cerise. But it can't be helped."
He eyed Gaston curiously. Gaston was not in the least deceived. His uncle added presently, "But you will have supper with me just the same?"
Gaston consented, and at this point the ladies appeared. He had a thrill of pleasure at hearing their praises, but, somehow, of all the fresh experiences he had had in England, this, the weightiest, left him least elated. He had now had it all: the reaction was begun, and he knew it.
"Well, Ian Belward, what mischief are you at now?" said Mrs. Gasgoyne.
"A picture merely, and to offer homage. How have you tamed our lion, and how sweetly does he roar! I feed him at my Club to-night."
"Ian Belward, you are never so wicked as when you ought most to be decent.—I wish I knew your place in this picture," she added brusquely.