Pangbutt entered the room and shut the door.
He laughed:
“Her ladyship doesn’t seem to be so enamoured of Bohemia after all,” he muttered.
“Eh?” asked Anthony.
“Oh—nothing—nothing,” said Pangbutt. “I am afraid we have spoilt a pretty woman’s illusion.”
Anthony gazed at the canvas before him:
“To destroy a pretty woman’s illusions is cruel as plucking out a child’s eyes,” he said, and added: “Who’s the doll?”
“Lady Persimmon; but——”
“What? Eleanor Persimmon, who married old Gilders Persimmon?... He dyed his beard for the wedding—naughty old man—and he’s had to renew it ever since——”
Pangbutt went to the fireplace, and he turned and said severely: