"I am going to ask Mrs. Perowne to marry me," Mark replied slowly.
"Phew-w-w!"
Instantly, Mark took his hat and marched out of the room. Tommy bit his nails till it occurred to him to light a pipe. Then he tried to continue his work, a special article, but he found it impossible to write a line. Mark's face and eyes disturbed him. Finally, he flung down his pen in a rage.
"I thought I knew him," he muttered, "I thought I knew him. This is the bottomless pit, and I led him blindfold to the edge of it."
Suddenly he bethought himself of Pynsent. Pynsent knew Mrs. Perowne, had painted her portrait—a revelation of character in colour. Accordingly he wired to Pynsent, asking him to dine at a small restaurant in Baker Street, and mentioning that a subject of importance was to be discussed. Pynsent wired back an acceptance for the same evening, and the men met at eight o'clock. They sat down to sharpen their appetites upon some excellent salted fillets of herring. Not till the marmite was swallowed did Greatorex give his perplexity words. Then he said abruptly—
"You painted Mrs. Perowne?"
"You bet I did—inside and out."
"Did she make love to you?"
"N-n-no," Pynsent replied, not quite readily.
"Why not be frank? I can hold my tongue."