“So am I. What’s his name?”
“Herbert—Herbert Strang.”
“A brother?”
“A cousin.”
“He’s not an artist?”
He hesitated: “Yes—and no,” he said.
“Ah, two of a trade,” she said, slyly.
He smiled. “Oh, he’s gone out of the business. He’s become a critic.”
“Wise man!”
He glanced furtively every now and then to see if Mrs. Wyndwood was returning. He was conducting the conversation with only the untroubled surface of his mind, interested enough in his piquant companion, but feeling her entirely as an interlude. Miss Regan perceived his perturbation at last.