“There’s little to explain,” she replied. “I merely called to consult Mr Egerton, who is an old friend, with regard to a portrait I desire painted.”
He endeavoured to preserve a calm disinterested demeanour, but the attempt was a sorry one. Prompted by feelings of jealousy, he gave vent to his wrath.
“Your position when I entered was peculiarly affectionate,” he said hotly.
He glanced at her, and caught the agitated expression of her face as she stood erect before him. Her eyes had a perplexed look, with just a suspicion of tears in their brown depths.
“No affection exists between us, I assure you,” she declared boldly. “If you doubt me, ask Mr Egerton. He and I are merely friends.”
Turning to the artist, Hugh asked—
“What have you to say, Jack?”
“I decline to be cross-examined,” was the abrupt reply.
“Speak, and satisfy him!” urged Valérie imploringly. “Tell him if there is any love between us.” She frowned, and, unseen by Trethowen, darted a sharp, imperative glance at him.
He fully comprehended her meaning. Raising his head, he confronted his friend, saying—