Miss Van Tuyn felt very angry with Lady Sellingworth. She was less angry with Craven. Indeed, she was not sure that she was angry with him at all. He was several years older than herself, but she began to think of him as really very young, as much younger in mind and temperament than she was. He was only a clever boy, susceptible to flattery, easily influenced by a determined will, and probably absurdly chivalrous. She knew the sort of chivalry which was a symptom really of babyhood in the masculine mind. It was characteristic of sensitive natures, she believed, and it often led to strange aberrations. Craven was only a baby, although a baby of the world, and Adela Sellingworth with her vast experience had, of course, seen that at a glance and was now busily playing upon baby’s young chivalry. Miss Van Tuyn could almost hear the talk about being so lonely in the big house in Berkeley Square, about the freedom of men and the difficulty of having any real freedom when one is a solitary woman with no man to look after you, about the tragedy of being considered old when your heart and your nature are really still young, almost as young as ever they were. Adela Sellingworth would know how to touch every string, would be an adept at calling out the music she wanted. How easily experienced women played upon men! It was really pathetic! And as Craven had thought of protecting Lady Sellingworth against Miss Van Tuyn, so now Miss van Tuyn felt inclined to protect Alick Craven against Lady Sellingworth. She did not want to see a nice and interesting boy make a fool of himself. Yet Craven was on the verge of doing that, if he had not already done it. Lady Wrackley and Mrs. Ackroyde had seen how things were, had taken in the whole situation in a moment. Miss Van Tuyn knew that, and in her knowledge there was bitterness. These two women had seen Lady Sellingworth preferred before her by a mere boy, had seen her beauty and youth go for nothing beside a woman of sixty’s fascination. There must be something quite extraordinary in Craven. He must be utterly unlike other young men. She began to wonder about him intensely. On the following morning, as usual, she went to Glebe Place to take what she had called her “lesson” from Dick Garstin. She arrived rather early, a few minutes before eleven, and found Garstin alone, looking tired and irritable. “You look as if you had been up all night,” she said as he let her in. “So I have!” She did not ask him what he had been doing. He would probably refuse to tell her. Instead she remarked: “Will you be able to paint?” “Probably not. But perhaps the fellow won’t come.” “Why not. He always--” She stopped; then said quickly, “So he was up all night too?” “Yes.” “I didn’t know you knew him out of the studio.” “Of course I know him wherever I meet him. What do you mean?” “I didn’t know you did meet him.”