"Most people—yes. But to gain the gold and miss . . . the rainbow!—A quoi bon?"
His voice vibrated. This sudden meeting with Nan was trying him hard.
There had been two genuine things in the man's life—his love for Nan and his love of his art. He had thrust the first deliberately aside so that he might not be handicapped in the second, and now that the race was won and success assured he was face to face with the realisation of the price that must be paid. Nan was out of his reach for ever. Standing here at his side with all her old elusive charm—out of his reach!
"What did you mean"—she was speaking to him again—"by telling Penny that you expected to see me soon—before she would?"
"Ah, that's my news. Of course, when I wrote, I thought you were still down in Cornwall, with the Trenbys. I'd no idea you were coming up to town just now."
"I'm up unexpectedly," murmured Nan. "Well? What then?"
He smiled, as though enjoying his secret.
"Isn't Burnham Court somewhere in your direction?"
"Yes. It's about midway between the Hall and Mallow Court. It belonged to a Sir Robert Burnham who's just died. Why do you ask?"
"Because Burnham was my godfather. The old chap disapproved of me strongly at one time—thought painting pictures a fool's job. But since luck came my way, his opinion apparently altered, and when he died he left me all his property—Burnham Court included."