Pelgram grew a little pale. To him, who had such difficulty in being real, this was very real. And seeing it, the girl softened.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm really more sorry than I can tell you."
And then she had cause for repentance, for the artist, with an effort, drew all his pride to aid him. And his proud mood was by no means his best. The only redeeming feature of the valedictory was that finally it was over.
Helen, looking a trifle jaded, walked homeward under the escort of Isabel and Wilkinson. She was quite silent, and Isabel, suspecting trouble, said little for her part.
Not so Charlie, who held forth fluently, with the exhilaration one feels on coming out of a hot church and dashing off in a touring car.
"Well," he said, "certain unfriendly persons have studiously circulated the impression that I am eligible for the Paresis Club—a chucklehead, in fact. But you will have to admit that I never give Private Views. You must concede that I do not inflict on my friends my opinions about crude color. Why, there must be several hundred things I don't do!"
"Thank Heaven you don't!" remarked Miss Maitland.
CHAPTER VII
It was one minute before eleven when the card of Mr. Charles Wilkinson was borne gingerly, by a large youth from South Framingham who served as door boy, into the presence of Mr. Hurd. That gentleman, reading the bit of pasteboard with a grunt which might have been indicative of any one of a dozen invidious sentiments, opened the proximate corner of his mouth.
"Send him in," came from the brief orifice.