In the course of a few moments there was audible the sound of murmuring voices, followed shortly by footsteps.
The door was thrown open, and William Hicks made a graceful entrée, finished, as it were, by the delicately-tinted flower he carried in his gloved fingers.
Mrs. Wylie rose at once with a most reprehensively deceitful smile of welcome. She devoutly wished William Hicks in other parts as she offered her plump white hand to his grasp.
The artist, with passable dissimulation, glanced round the room. No sign or vestige of Brenda! The rose was deftly dropped into his hat and set aside. It had cost two shillings.
'Ah! Mrs. Wylie,' he exclaimed, 'I was half afraid you would be out shopping. The wind is simply excruciating.'
'Then warm yourself at once. I am afraid I am alone.'
Hicks was, in his way, a bold man. He relied thoroughly upon a virtue of his own which he was pleased to call tact—others said its right name was 'cheek.'
'Afraid!' he said reproachfully, and with an inquiring smile.
'Yes—the girls are out.'
He laughed in a pleasant deprecating way, and held his slim hands towards the fire.