“I don’t like him,” returned Miss Van Tuyn. “No one could do that. But I admire him, and he interests me. He is almost the only man I know who is really indifferent to opinion. And he has occasional moments of good nature. But I don’t wish him to be soft. If he were he would be like everyone else.” “I must confess I find it very difficult to get on with him.” “He’s a wonderful painter.” “No doubt--in his way.” “I think it a great mistake for any creative artist to be wonderful in someone else’s way,” said Miss Van Tuyn. “I only meant that his way is sometimes rather startling. And then his subjects! Drugged women! Dram drinking men! And now it seems even blackmailers.” “A blackmailer might have a wonderful face.” “Possibly. But it would be likely to have a disgusting expression.” “It might. On the other hand, I could imagine a blackmailer looking like Chaliapine as Mephistopheles.” “I don’t like distressing art,” said Braybrooke, rather firmly. “And I think there is too much of it nowadays.” “Anything is better than the merely nice. And you have far too much of that in England. Men like Dick Garstin are a violent protest against that, and sometimes they go to extremes. He has caught the secret of evil, and when he has done with it he may quite possibly catch the secret of good.” “And then,” said Braybrooke, “I am sure he will paint you.” It was meant to be a very charmingly turned compliment. But Miss Van Tuyn received it rather doubtfully. “I don’t know that I want to wait quite so long as that,” she murmured. “Besides--I think I rather come in between. At least, I hope so.” At this point in the conversation the cab stopped before the Ritz. To Francis Braybrooke’s intense astonishment--and it might almost be added confusion--the first person his eyes lit on as they walked towards the tea-tables was Fanny Cronin, comfortably seated in an immense arm-chair, devouring a muffin in the company of an old lady, whose determined face was completely covered with a criss-cross of wrinkles, and whose withered hands were flashing with magnificent rings. He was so taken aback that he was guilty of a definite start, and the exclamation, “Miss Cronin!” in a voice that suggested alarm. “Oh, old Fanny with Mrs. Clem Hodson!” said Miss Van Tuyn. “She’s a school friend of Fanny’s from Philadelphia. Let us go to that table in the far corner. I’ll just speak to them while you order tea.” “But I thought Miss Cronin never went out.” “She never does, except with Mrs. Clem, unless I want her.” “How singularly unfortunate I am to-day!” thought Braybrooke, as he bowed to Miss Cronin in a rather confused manner and went to do as he was told.